The Song of Durin
by Amadeli
Summary: The line of Durin's folk was broken, but ancient tales hint that death may not be as permanent as it seems. Prophecies unfold, legends awaken, and once more a simple hobbit must strike out to aid a company of dwarves on an undoubtedly dangerous quest. Post BotFA, a bit of meddling with later events, with plenty of Middle Earth lore tossed in for good measure. Updates every Monday.
1. Death and Stone

A/N: Here we go! This will be a many-chaptered story - updates are on Mondays and Fridays, and all feedback is much appreciated! Cheers!

* * *

_It is over_.  
That was all that was running through the mind of a battered hobbit as hush filled the still winter air. _It is over, it is over, it is over._  
Sharp, icy rocks surrounded Bilbo, a stark contrast to the rolling green home he had left behind. When he had once kept vigils over tender sprouts of marigold or pumpkin, he now kept guard over a body. _No, over a friend_, he scolded himself, stealing a bewildered glance to his left.

Thorin Oakenshield lay there, sprawled majestically against the snowy rock bed beneath him. Half-lidded eyes stared up at the clearing sky, the fierce blue fire extinguished by an orcish blade. Bilbo reached over with a trembling hand, barely brushing his friend's eyes closed as his breathing hitched; he let out a single huffing sob and collapsed back into his seat beside the king. Blinking rapidly, he looked around at the desolate landscape, surprised that tears still threatened to come despite the amount he had already lost to the stony ground.

His gaze settled on another crumpled body across the frozen river, strands of golden hair shifting restlessly in the crisp breeze. Bilbo's throat caught again, remembering the horrendous slaughter he had witnessed mere hours ago. Fili lay crumpled to one side, facing the empty ruins of Ravenhill.  
Pushing off a particularly jagged outcropping of rock, Bilbo stumbled upright and towards the riverbank, his sluggish feet fighting his growing determination. His mind thrummed with the need to retrieve his dead friend, to see that nephew and uncle were reunited as quickly as possible.

Dropping down onto the ice, Bilbo easily skirted the broken battlefield where the line of Durin had been shaken to it's core. Dreamy recollections of the savage fight floated through his mind - were they memories? Fever dreams? He wasn't sure, but he pushed them out of his mind with venomous rage as he scrambled off of the river and towards the fallen prince.

Fili, the golden heir, was much heavier than he looked. Bilbo let a dry sob rip itself out of his throat as his eyes fell on the ugly wound on the prince's back, clogged with drying blood that had spilled to the ground below. Gritting his teeth, he slung an armored arm over his shoulders and hefted the young prince onto his back. Grunting all the way, he unceremoniously heaved the prince towards Thorin's figure.

He gently laid Fili next to his uncle, although he knew that no amount of battery could change the prince's fate. Ignoring the urge to cry again, he set about lightly arranging the two royals - brushing back a stray raven hair, re-buckling a worn leather bracer, lacing up the collar of a night blue tunic.  
While in the midst of his task, a flash of red and green appeared in the corner of his eye. He hurriedly straightened up and groped for Sting, turning to face this new threat, only to find himself staring across the river at a elf bearing-

"Oh no...Kili..." Bilbo half sighed, half choked. He had been harboring the slight hope that somehow the youngest song of Durin had survived, but the look on the elf's face made his fate abundantly clear as she delicately crossed the river with the prince's body, carrying him as one would a child. Bilbo sheathed his sword, staring wordlessly as the elf brought Kili to him, and gently laid him beside his brother and uncle. She seemed at a loss for words as well, and numbly joined Bilbo as he sat on the riverbank.

They sat for a moment in silence, neither quite knowing what to say. The elf stared skyward, as if searching the evening sky for answers, while Bilbo was transfixed by the frozen waterfall, watching the stain of Azog's blood recede with the sluggish current. After a moment he cleared his throat, causing the elf beside him to jump.  
"Bilbo Baggins," he croaked out, "at your service."  
The elf looked at him a long moment, then inclined her auburn head.  
"Tauriel, at yours."  
They relapsed into silence for e few more moments, watching the survivors wander across the death fields below.  
"You are not a dwarf, Master Baggins."  
"Hmm, no, no. A hobbit, from the Shire."  
"And how came you to this foul part of the world?" Tauriel asked, turning to look at her companion. He frowned slightly, increasing the wrinkles on his forehead as he pursed his mouth.  
"I was hired, as a burglar by, um," he seemed to choke on something before continuing, "by Thorin Oakenshield." He gestured to the prone bodies behind them, but couldn't bear to look. Instead he looked up at Tauriel. "You're from Mirkwood?"  
She raised a single eyebrow. "Yes, although you are unfamiliar to me. Were you ever in those halls?"  
"While I was employed, yes. I burgled this lot out through your cellars, actually."  
"Ah, so it was you. I had wondered how a group of dwarves managed to escape the halls of the Elvenking." she murmured the last word with dash of bitterness. Bilbo hummed in agreement.  
"They may not be the stealthiest, but dwarves certainly have other merits." he replied softly.  
"I know," she responded, her face shrouded in the same sorrow that Bilbo felt wrapped around his heart. "One of your company was dear to me."

Bilbo's eyes caught a flash of blue in her hands, neatly folded in her lap. Her thumb absently rubbed the edge of a smooth, shimmering stone.  
"I thought...that I would bring him to the gates, to his kin," she said, nodding towards the broken entrance of Erebor's halls, "but all my strength seems to have left me, and I have no desire to return to my own at the moment. They will not be...understanding about my loss."  
Bilbo gulped, staring down at the tiny survivors below. He turned to look at Tauriel with a watery smile.  
"Well, you are welcome to share your sorrows with us," he replied, waving to Erebor's gate, "I don't think any grief will be easily turned away." Tauriel looked at him, several emotions passing over her face before she settled on a thin smile. Returning it, Bilbo clumsily stood up and cracked his back and settles his hands on his hips as Tauriel gracefully joined him.

Steeling himself, Bilbo looked once more on the pale faces of the line of Durin - a terrible storm had brought this branch crashing to the ground. He opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking. "I should go get the others. I've no idea what dwarfish burial customs are."  
Tauriel nodded, placing one shaky hand on his shoulder as the other hand shifted the blue stone around. With a last heavy sigh, Bilbo dragged himself away from his prone companions, leading the way down the Ravenhill to the carnage field below.


	2. Blood and Company

A/N: Thank you to those of you still reading, and those of you leaving feedback - it's much appreciated!Cheers!

* * *

Properly winded after the steep hike down the hill, Bilbo stepped heavily onto the grassy plain. Tauriel lightly followed, sidestepping the battered remnants of an orc shield. Bodies littered the wide field, soaking the ground with inky blood. Occasionally a streak of deep red punctuated the scene, seeping into the coarse soil. Survivors picked through the field, sometimes crying out as they recognized a face or shoving a dagger into a still-breathing foe.

Bilbo clumsily made his way through the carnage, Tauriel slipping silently behind him as they drew closer to Erebor. The torn bodies of men, dwarves, elves, and orcs alike made the journey slow, and more than once Bilbo had to fight back bile. Tauriel placed a comforting hand on his shoulder whenever he paused, which he would pat gratefully and continue on.

The hush across the battlefield was oppressive, clogging the pair's ears as they finally reached the stone bridge. Several dwarves milled around the entrance, and one of them waved and shouted as they caught sight of Bilbo.  
"Bilbo, my lad, is that you?"  
"Balin!" Bilbo cried back, jogging towards his ragged friend with a tired and relived smile. They met halfway, immediately wrapping each other in a tight embrace. Tauriel stood a respectful distance away, aware that Balin's companions were eyeing her with suspicion. Balin stepped pack and held the hobbit at an arm's length, surveying the damage.  
"By my beard am I glad that you are alive. It seems that our little company is pure luck on the battlefield, eh?" the dwarf said happily. Bilbo's smile faded, and the familiar lump crawled back up his throat.  
"Not...not all of our company." he replied thickly as Balin dropped his arms. Horror slowly crawled across his face as he looked between Tauriel and Bilbo.  
"No, not Thorin...?" he managed to gasp at last, grabbing one of Bilbo's arms. The hobbit was silent, looking at his friend with such indescribable grief-  
"The lads? Fili, Kili?" Balin asked, going as pale as his beard. Bilbo trembled, a strangled breath forcing itself out of his throat as he gave the smallest of head shakes. Tauriel was silently crying, and bowed her head when Balin looked helplessly at her. Tears filled his eyes as his breathing grew ragged.  
"Oh, my king..." he murmured, looking like a lost child. He wrapped the teary hobbit back up into a firm hug, which Bilbo heartily reciprocated. Both of them shuddered with grief for their lost friends, taking a full minute to regain some composure and pull apart. Balin kept an arm around Bilbo's shoulder as he looks up at Tauriel, who was content to let her tears run their course without brushing them away as Bilbo did.  
"And what might we do for you, wood-elf?" Balin asked, sounding harsher than he meant to. Tauriel slowly opened her mouth to reply, nervously shifting her blue stone behind her back. Bilbo held up a hand, beckoning her over.  
"This is Tauriel, she wishes to pay her respects."

Balin raised a bushy brow as he looked the elf up and down. After a moment he gave a brief nod, having determined that her grief was, in fact, real, and not being used to mock his kin.  
"Very well. Where are they, my lad?" Balin said thickly, an arm still around Bilbo's shoulder.  
"Up on Ravenhill, on the eastern riverbank." Bilbo replied, feeling Balin slowly pull away and wave over the three dwarves he had been with earlier.  
"Very well. I'll...gather the company, and we'll bring them down." Balin said heavily, turning back to his dwarfish companions.

As he began explaining the situation, Bilbo stepped over to the elf. Her silent tears had stopped - Bilbo suspected that she had run out for the moment, just as he had. With a huff, he sat heavily on a block of stone nearby. Tauriel paced anxiously for a moment, glancing at the dwarf meeting, before joining the hobbit. Her hands went to her lap, where she smoothed her fingers over the oval stone. Bilbo looked at it for a moment, then realized where he had seen it before.

"Is that Kili's?" he asked lightly, eying the stone as Tauriel stilled her movements.  
"Yes. Given to me just before he set out for the mountain." she murmured in reply. She paused, then resumed her nervous handling of the stone. "I'm not...I haven't lived enough to know how to express this pain." she finally said, gulping in a breath as she stared up at the shattered remnants of the mountain hall. "I always longed to see the edge of the world, to experience life firsthand instead of reading about others in books. But now I do not know." Bilbo chewed on his lip thoughtfully, pushing his grief into a deep place in his heart so he might focus on helping his new elven friend.

"Where I come from, the Shire, there is a song that goes 'home is behind, the world ahead.'" Tauriel looked down at him as he half sung, half spoke the words, exhaustion showing clearing on her ethereal face. "I think it means that to see the world, the safety of home must be given in exchange. It is not a fair trade. You know," he said with a bittersweet smile, "Gandalf once told me that the world was not in my books and maps, but out here."

He gestured grandly around them, Tauriel following his waves with wide, grave eyes. "I stupidly thought that the world would be a kind place. It is not." His voice had taken on a hard edge now, and Tauriel placed a kind hand on his arm. "I think it is up to people like us, those who would see the world a good and green and kind place, to make it so," he said, his mind involuntarily recalling Thorin's praise of his humble character, "for if we do not, the world will only grow harsh, and cold, and it will remain that way until the end of days."

Tauriel looked sadly at the little hobbit. His rounded features were sharper than she had seen them, a single muscle flexing in his jaw as he stared into the distance. Balin strode over heavily, steadying himself on Bilbo's shoulder as the three other dwarves sullenly strode out into the battlefield.  
"They're going to get the company. They'll bring our boys home." Balin explained, absently picking at dried blood around a cut on his face.  
"Ah..." was all Bilbo could say, and Tauriel remained silent.


	3. Simple Farewells

A/N: THANK YOU for pointing out the code error - here's the chapter, hopefully a little easier to read!

* * *

The sons of Durin drew near to the halls of their fathers on makeshift stretchers, made of lashed-together dwarven shields and spears. Born by the distraught members of Thorin's noble company, their pallid faces contrasted sharply against the glinting weapons that held them aloft. The first soft beams of moonlight mingled with the last glow of sunset as the surviving armies filled any clear spot on the bloody grassland, elf man and dwarf mingling as they silently watched the quiet procession finish their terrible journey across the battle mire.

Bilbo padded softly behind the three pallets, dimly noticing that the crowds parted as they drew closer to the cracked hall and left Ravenhill to the evening mists. Tauriel strode silently next to him, as well as Ori, Bombur, and Bifur, who was sporting a dislocated shoulder. Balin lead the grim line, and the rest of the remaining dwarves reverently carried their cargo much more gently that the little hobbit would have thought possible.  
He was startle out of his trance when a blond, vaguely familiar elf gently took hold of Tauriel's shoulder. She jumped, clearly as listless as Bilbo, and locked eyes with the male elf.  
"Tauriel, this is not your place." he said sadly, although there was no force behind his grip or voice. The procession slowly continued it's march, but Bilbo drifted over to Tauriel and the blond elf.  
"Yes it is, _mellon_," she replied evenly, lightly taking the hand off of her arm and holding it one of her own and giving him a gentle smile, "at least for the moment."  
"I am...going north." the other elf said abruptly, looking slightly startled by his sudden words. Tauriel searched his face, concerned.  
"Why, Legolas? Surely the king has not..."  
"It was my father who suggested the journey in the first place," he replied with a light smile, gently folding Tauriel's hand up in his grasp, "I think it will be many years until we meet again."  
"_Aa' menealle nauva calen ar' malta._" she said softly, retrieving her hand to place it over her heart, a move which he mimiced.  
"_Aa' lasser en lle coia orn n' omenta gurtha._" he replied, letting his hand fall gracefully as Tauriel's hand did the same. Bilbo watched the tender exchange sadly, recognizing the pain of parting with a dear friend. With a last glance at his friend, Legolas turned and waded away through the crowd.

Bilbo looked up at Tauriel, unsurprised to see her face once more wet with tears. He gently put one of his small hands as high on her back as he could, guiding her mutely towards the receding bodies of their friends. The crowd still parted to let the odd pair through, allowing them to quickly catch up with the company and their burdens.  
"Will you...will you tell me what you said?" Bilbo asked quietly, glancing up at the elf beside him. She smiled sadly at him.  
"I wished his way would always be green and a breeze at his back, and he wished that the leaves of my life tree would never turn brown. Simple farewells for elf folk." she replied, wiping at her cheeks.  
"They are beautiful words. I wish I had been able to study your language while with Lord Elrond."  
"You were at Imladris?"  
"Yes, for a time, although to us it was Rivendell. But being with thirteen dwarves made studying your kind more...difficult that if I was there alone." he said with a fond smile at the dwarves before them. Tauriel made no reply, only smiled thinly. It seemed that both of them had used up all of their words as they followed the grim parade up to the crumbling green stone of Erebor's gaping gates.

Balin did not hesitate as he stepped into the black innards of the mountain hall, followed only by the company. After a moment, the remaining dwarvish warriors filed into the shadowy mountain, and the men and elves left for their respective camps. There would be no raucous music spilling forth into the night - if a celebration was held, it was done quietly, as if the mountain itself threatened to snuff out any joy on the night she had lost her beloved line of kings.  
Led by Balin, the three royals were led to one of the many front rooms, were other dwarf bodies lay in neat lines on the floor. The trio was set at the far end of the room, and the door was closed for the night.

Bilbo walked up to the old dwarf as the surviving warriors were shown to their accommodations, Tauriel still beside him. Balin was sitting on a chair to the near left of the doorway where Thorin and his nephews were laying, and smiled tiredly as the hobbit as he approached.  
"Dear Bilbo. Praise Mahal you are still with us. The company is delighted that you are here, although they are a mite wrapped up in their sorrow at the moment." he said heavily as Bilbo patted his armored shoulder.  
"Do you, I mean, is this a custom?" the hobbit asked, gesturing to Balin and his chair. "To sit vigil?" he added when Balin raised an eyebrow.  
"Aye, it is. See there," he motioned to a cluster of dwarves seated further down the wall, currently being tended by one of several roving healers, "they all have brothers in here, friends, lovers, family. Loved ones guard the...the bodies of those that have fallen, so that their souls may travel safely to the halls of our fathers. Tomorrow morn we will begin funeral arrangements."

Bilbo and Tauriel had been listening with rapt attention. Tauriel finally took a small step forward.  
"Would you mind if...someone were to join you in your vigil?" she asked timidly, looking they shyest that Bilbo had ever seen the fierce elf warrior.  
Balin's torn heart was touched by her honest expression, and he gave a small shake of his head. "No, I don't believe I would."  
Tauriel bowed her head slightly in return and folded her legs underneath herself, sitting beside the aging dwarf his left as Bilbo mutely sat to his right. The presence of the great stone door beside him was a heavy reminder of the finality of the death of their friends - Bilbo knew that sleep would not touch him that night.


	4. Dawn and Splendor

A/N: Hello all! Just a heads up - "Helluin" is the name Tolkien gave to the star Sirius. He renamed lots of our stars and constellations when creating Middle Earth, giving them Elvish names. As always, feel free to contact me with questions, comments, requests, etc. Cheers!

* * *

Dawn broke slowly, sliding into the carven halls with streamers of pearly light and a dusting of frost. Bilbo shuddered and wrapped his coat tighter around himself, leaning against Balin's knee. Tauriel still sat on the dwarf's other side, back ram-rod straight and staring into the distance. Large, fat candles had been distributed among the vigil - several sat clustered in front of the trio, long since melted and nearly extinguished in a creamy puddle.

At the first signs of the lavender light, the dwarves that held vigil all stood and began stretching, speaking to one another in hushed tones. Balin sighed and pushed himself off the rickety chair below him, wincing as several limbs creaked in the sudden motion. Bilbo followed suit, pulling himself up as Tauriel gracefully rose beside them.  
"What are the...proper steps now?" she asked, adjusting her bodice's laces.  
"Close kin ready them for burial. Dain will be seeing to these three. The rest of us go to prepare the Den of Helluin, where the line of kings is buried." Balin replied. At this Tauriel looked over at the dwarf with curious eyes.  
"The star?"  
"Aye. We dwarves may not show it, but the Eldar are not the only people in Middle Earth to enjoy starlight." Balin mused, lightly teasing the elf. Tauriel had the grace to flush slightly, returning his kind smile.

At that moment a heavy shadow fell across the trio, cutting off the golden light of the morning. Dain, still clad in worn and chipped armor, steadily made his way across the hall towards them, joined only by one other armored dwarf. Balin stepped to meet him, bowing slightly as they met.  
"Come come, ya bastard, no bows just yet!" Dain protested, wrapping Balin up in a brief embrace. Pulling away, he turned to Bilbo and Tauriel with unmasked intrigue.  
"And you are you?" he asked bluntly, putting an arm around Balin's shoulders.  
"Bilbo...Baggins, of the Shire," the hobbit stuttered out after a moment, unsure of how to approach the forward dwarf, "and Tauriel, a friend."  
"Baggins, the traitorous burglar that stole the King's Jewel?" Dain asked evenly, no hint of accusation in his thick brogue.  
"Ah, yes. That would be me."  
Bilbo got a grunt in response. Dain simply pinned Tauriel under a long, straightforward stare, then turned back to Balin.  
"But where are my blasted manners? This is Thorin."  
Bilbo nearly choked, then caught himself when Dain swept a hand at the dwarf beside him. He could have been mistaken for a younger copy of Dain, complete with fiery hair a clear gaze. Bilbo found him comparing this dwarf to the dark-haired, brooding character that he had come to associate with the name. Thorin - but not _Thorin _\- gave a curt bow before swooping past the group and into the makeshift tomb.  
"We'll take good care of 'em, m'friend. These dear blighters will outshine every dwarven king of old." Dain said, patting Balin on the shoulder and moving to the doorway.

Before he knew it, Bilbo had awkwardly grabbed one of Dain's heavily armored elbows.  
"No gold!" he blurted, suddenly anxious. Dain merely looked at him.  
"For Thorin. My- our Thorin," he clarified, "all this accursed gold is what started this madness in the first place."  
Dain paused, then set a heavy hand on the hobbit's shoulder.  
"Right ya are, Baggins. Besides, my cousin was always more partial to mythril."  
With that, Dain swept away. Balin stepped up to Bilbo with a smile.  
"What a treasure you are, Bilbo."

* * *

Bilbo spend the rest of the day hiding in what used to be a shop, judging from the shelves of dusty spoons and mugs. He had tried to stomach the idea of seeing the kings buried, but each time the thought came up he found it difficult to breathe. Tauriel, upon seeing the hobbit's obvious distress, had taken it upon herself to ask Balin where they might find a quiet place to spend the day. Neither Bilbo nor Tauriel felt up to the task of attending the funeral, and so immersed themselves in the quiet, dusty room for the rest of the day, given a fat stack of maps to peruse by Balin.

As the drinking and feasting started in the front hall, Bilbo hastily packed a pilfered rucksack and snuck down to the burial grounds. It was a dark and damp place, lit only by glittering crystal veins twisting through the rough stone. Ancient tombs had been carved into the walls, and a wide waterfall cascaded at the end of the room.

The three royals had been laid out on pallets in the center of the room, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight. Thorin was utterly resplendent, wearing a full suit of what could only be mythril plate armor, finely wrong and fit to him like he had been born in it. A thick velvet cloak spilled out from under him, the same midnight blue he had often worn in life. New silver beads were threaded in his hair and tiny diamonds and sapphires winked from hidden places, giving the illusion that the king was caught in a shower of starlight. Fili was similarly attired, clothed in deep red silk and golden armor, decorated with rubies and lines of filigree runes. Kili was set in the best archer's leathers that dwarvish gold could buy, rimmed with downy fur and offset with shimmering silver accents polished like mirrors. None wore a crown, but their kingly splendor affirmed their royalty ten times over.

Tauriel knelt there, murmuring something under her breath as she rolled the little blue stone between her fingers. Bilbo considered slipping on his ring and silently saying his goodbyes, but Tauriel looked up at him before he could slip away. He awkwardly shuffled and cleared his throat.  
"Mind if I join you?" he asked politely as she stood.  
"I would be glad of the company." was the smooth reply, although as he stepped up beside her, Bilbo could see trails from tears on Tauriel's cheeks.

He silently turned his gaze to the glittering trio before him, drinking in the sight. All along the length of their bodies, trinkets and coins were stowed - offerings from families, if Bilbo's reading material was up to date. He absently patted his pockets and found only crumbs, his acorn from Beorn's garden, and Gollum's strange ring. _Thorin certainly doesn't need more gold_, he thought bitterly, and his hand finally fell on his last brass button, a little battered, but still glinting merrily. With shaking hands he ripped it from his vest, ignoring the little green strings that came with it as he tucked it in between Thorin's great hands.

On the floor, half a dozen candles had been placed, all but one still a mass of waxen waves. A deep red candle, nearly the width of Bilbo's arm, still stood unlit with plenty of wax to burn. Rummaging around in his pack, Bilbo finally located a stolen box of matches. _You know, Thorin,_ he thought as he struck the match, _I'd never considered myself to be a friendly sort until your quest swept me away from my little hobbit hole. Polite, maybe, but until you lot came I was as unsociable as they come._ The match flared into life as he lowered it. _But blast it if I won't spend the rest of my weak little life wishing that the three of you could have grown old._ The candle lit, sending up a puff of sparks. _You know how much I miss my books and armchair and garden._ His hand hovered over the candle, lost in thought as the tiny flame crept up the matchstick. _But if you had better believe that I'll miss you ten times more-_

"Ouch-!" he hissed, wincing as the fire crawled up the matchstick and bit into the tips of his fingers. Stuffing the matches in a pocket, he sighed and turned his attention back to the shimmering trio before him.  
"They should have always been thus appareled." he mused, realizing too late he was thinking out loud.  
"The finery is nothing less than they deserve." Tauriel replied, taking a deep breath in through her nose, her gaze falling to Bilbo's stuffed pack.  
"You are leaving? Where are you going?"  
"On an adventure," he said with a sad smile, "back to the Shire, where I belong. You know, I had thought, anyway, that if you've no place to go, you might like to see my part of the world? There's certainly enough room for a friend to visit Bag End."

Bilbo knew he was rambling, but the smile on Tauriel's face told him has words were kindly received.  
"I would be honored to accompany you, Master Baggins."  
"Bilbo, please. And would you...mind if we left tonight?" he replied, glancing at Thorin once more.  
"I'll need a few moments, but I would be glad to leave before the hour is out."  
With that, the pair headed towards the door, falling once more into companionable silence. Before they left the room, Tauriel paused at the doorway. Bilbo nearly left her behind, but doubled back with a question on his face.  
"What is it?"  
"Just...listen for a moment." she said, holding up a hand to stop any reply he might have.

Bilbo did as he was told, listening to the distant rumble of the waterfall, Tauriel's shifting foot, his own heartbeat. He frowned, straining his ears, then met Tauriel's wide eyes as his ears picked up the sound of a third, ragged breath coming from the illuminated center of the room.


	5. Double Repeats

A/N: Here we go! Just a heads up - updates are probably going to be on Mondays and Fridays from now on. As always, feel free to contact me with questions, suggestions, etc, I love hearing from you guys! Cheers!

* * *

Bilbo and Tauriel stood rooted to the door frame. There was no doubt now – someone, or something, was in the burial room with them, shallow breaths echoing around the damp stone chamber. Bilbo felt his pulse quicken, and a strange combination of fear, hope, and curiosity grip his heart. A glance at Tauriel told him she felt the same – her eyes were wide in the soft crystal light, staring at the moonbeam where Thorin, Fili, and Kili were laid out.

Numbly aware of his actions, Bilbo slowly made his way back to the trio of pallets, eyes straining to catch every detail of Thorin's prone form. _He is dead,_ Bilbo though, _killed by Azog, I saw him die…_ Tauriel was barely a step behind him, looking everywhere but at Kili's face as she tried to pinpoint the source of the ragged breathing. Bilbo stopped a foot away from Thorin, anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach as the breathing grew more labored, more close. Bilbo couldn't tear his eyes from the king's face, almost believing that breathing was coming from his friend.

"It cannot be..." he murmured, reaching out to hesitantly place a hand over Thorin's, where his button lay cradled between pale fingers. Tauriel stepped up beside him, pursing her lips in worry.

As Bilbo's hand ever so slightly grazed Thorin's, the king convulsed and drew a great shuddering breath, making Bilbo yell in surprise and stumble back with Tauriel in tow. Thorin's eyes fluttered open and he groaned, throwing up an arm to shield his eyes from the clear moonbeam as he struggled to sit upright. The movement was thwarted by his cloak, causing the King Under the Mountain to tumble ungracefully to the floor in a heap of glinting armor and navy velvet, scattering trinkets left and right.

Bilbo and Tauriel were speechless. The hobbit's mouth hung open as he stared at Thorin, hundreds of thoughts buzzing around his skull as he watched his friend – his undoubtedly _alive_ friend, if his heavy breathing was any indication – prop himself up into a seated position against the pallet where he had laid dead moments ago. His eyes were pinched shut as he leaned his head back, slowly regaining control of his breathing.

After a moment, or perhaps minutes, of silence, Bilbo took a step towards Thorin. The dwarf's eyes shot open at the sound, and he pinned the hobbit with his signature piercing glare before his expression relaxed in recognition.

"Bilbo?"

For the second time in his life, Bilbo Baggins fainted.

* * *

A splash of cool water across his face dragged Bilbo back into reality. He gasped and spluttered, sitting bolt upright before his head knocked into something _hard_ and fell back with a groan. He could hear a gentle laugh to one side, and a grumble to his other. He cracked an eye open to see a smiling Tauriel to his left, and on his other side was none other than Thorin Oakenshield seated beside him, frowning and rubbing his forehead.  
"Has anyone told you that you have a thick head?" the king growled, glaring good-naturedly at the bewildered hobbit.  
"Thorin." was Bilbo's dry reply - his thick hobbit head couldn't string any other words together. He sat up, slower than before, staring at his dead-until-moments-ago friend. Thorin cracked a smile at Bilbo's reaction, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest. Bilbo squinted at the king suspiciously.  
"I have checked his pulse - he is indeed alive." Tauriel said with a smile as she returned a water skin to Bilbo's pilfered pack. Bilbo remained silent and she hauled him to his feet, and Thorin stood as well.  
"Thorin..." Bilbo croaked weakly, "It's, well, I mean, it's good, uh, to, it's good to-"  
For the second time in his life, Bilbo was swept up into Thorin's hug.  
Bilbo immediately returned the embrace, ignoring the armor prodding his ribs. After a moment his throat tightened and they pulled away, Thorin's hands still on the hobbit's shoulders. Bilbo tried to say something, anything, but he found himself gaping like a fish and Thorin gave his shoulders an encouraging squeeze.  
"It is good to see you as well." the king said quietly, glancing around the chamber.

A moment of silence passed, then Tauriel quickly turned her attention to where Fili was lying. She immediately looked at Bilbo with a sort of bewildered smile, which he returned as his ears picked up strained breathing coming from the golden prince. The pair hurried over to Fili's side, Thorin close behind.

"What in Durin's name is going on? Is he alive?" he rumbled anxiously, stepping up behind Bilbo.

"Just wait a moment…" the hobbit replied, watching the prince's face intently.

Nothing happened. Tauriel and Bilbo glanced at each other as Fili continued to breath, but did not awaken.

"Perhaps you need to touch him?" Tauriel offered, and Bilbo nodded, reaching out to lay a hand on one of Fili's exposed fingers.

The result was instantaneous – Fili gasped and his eyes flew open, glancing around wildly. Thorin was immediately by his side, putting a soothing hand on his nephew's forehead as the golden-haired dwarf's breathing slowed and he registered his surroundings.

"Uncle?" he rasped, earning a smile from the normally stoic king.

"Oh, my sister son…" he trailed off, helping Fili to sit upright on the pallet.

At that moment, Tauriel quickly stepped up to Kili's side and shot Bilbo and urgent look. Bilbo nodded once and shuffled over, just catching the sounds of air whistling between the young prince's lips as he lightly touched Kili's hand. He jolted awake, squinting against the light as he looked around blearily. Tauriel placed a gently hand over his, and he grinned widely as he looked up and found her wide, grave eyes.

"Tauriel!" he whispered happily, beaming up at her.

She half smiled, half sobbed, and laid her forehead against Kili's as tears spilled down her face. Kili, unable to stop smiling, murmured soft words into her fiery hair. One hand went to the side of her neck, the other happily tucked into her trembling grip. Bilbo quietly took his leave of the tender moment, returning to Thorin's side as Fili was helped to his feet. Thorin had an arm thrown protectively thrown around his nephew's shoulders, supporting the prince as he steadied himself.

"What on earth happened?" Fili asked, absently tugging on the thick red cape that hung from his shoulders. Bilbo opened his mouth to reply, but Thorin silenced him with a look, turning to face his nephew with a hand on each golden shoulder.

"I didn't protect you as I should have. It was my negligence and proud ignorance that put you on that battlefield, when I should have sent you somewhere safe." Thorin said, bowing his head in repentance. "I would ask your forgiveness."

Fili looked at Bilbo in shock, and the hobbit merely shrugged his shoulders in return. Fili turned his stare back at the repentant Thorin.

"It's not as if you could have kept me away, uncle. I never bore you ill will for bringing me to war, but I heartily forgive whatever crime you believe to have committed." Fili replied smoothly, leaning forwards to touch foreheads with his uncle.

After a moment he straightened and swept over to his little brother, leaving Thorin and Bilbo to watch as he nearly smothered Kili. Tauriel laughed outright at their childish antics, and Bilbo even caught Thorin smiling before the king coughed and muttered something under his breath as he glanced away.

"He will make a great king." Bilbo said simply, beaming at the idea that the prince now fully alive and able to achieve his legacy.

"Aye, there can be no doubt." Thorin agreed, crossing his arms as he watched the brothers.

Beside him, the ignored red candle was nothing more than a melted puddle on the stone ground – several coins and trinkets had been caught up in the slow red waves– and for a moment the struggling flame sputtered, then sizzled out, drowned it its own wax.


	6. Wax and Poetry

A/N: I love hearing from you guys - what worked, what doesn't work, etc, so don't hesitate to contact me! Let's see if you can decipher the last bit before the story does :) Cheers!

* * *

Gandalf, Dain, and Balin were the only three to be notified of the king's return to the world of the living. Balin had cried with joy and Dain had happily rattled off curses in Khuzdul and Westron alike, but Gandalf had said nothing. Bilbo watched the brooding wizard as Dain and Thorin talked in low voices and Balin went to sit with Fili on one of the pallets. Tauriel and Kili were seated nearby, wrapped up in a low conversation, full of smiles and clasped hands.

"And what do you make of this?" Bilbo looked up as Gandalf stepped up beside him, taking the whole scene in with narrowed eyes. Bilbo thought for a moment, biting back a naïve reply.  
"I think…that we are lucky to have them back." Bilbo mused, looking up at the wizard, who only grumbled in reply.  
"You are…not happy to see them?"  
"On the contrary, my dear Bilbo! But I will be much happier when we know if this turn of events has any repercussions."  
"Repercussions? Like what?"  
"First you must tell me exactly how this happened. Leave nothing out, understand?" Gandalf peered at the hobbit over his beard, fixing him in a hard stare. Bilbo shifted nervously, as if he had been caught with his hands inside the cookie basket.  
"I came down, maybe an hour ago, and Tauriel was here," he gestured to the elf, "and I did the whole offering and prayer thing, lit one of the candles, and then we went to leave, but we heard breathing. We went back, I touched Thorin's arm, and he woke up. The same for Fili and Kili." Bilbo finished, absently rubbing his nose. Gandalf narrowed his eyes.  
"Was there anything suspicious around? What about the other offerings? The candles?"  
"There were trinkets, and some coins, I think there was a brooch. I lit the only candle that could still burn - the others had already melted."

Bilbo pointed to the puddle of red on the floor, surrounded by smaller clumps of plain undyed beeswax. Gandalf strode over, pushing the odd offering or two out of the way, and stood directly in front of the remains of the red candle. It looked innocuous enough, no hint of magical spark or sorcerous internal light. Wielding a brand new staff, he gently tapped the cool wax once, twice…  
"Gandalf, I think it's just wax." Balin said from nearby.  
"So it would seem…" the wizard mused, and began mumbling to himself.  
Bilbo could only scoff and pretend to be deep in thought in response as Balin raised a bushy eyebrow and turned his attention back to Fili.

After a moment Gandalf cleared his throat, gathering everyone's attention. Even Tauriel and Kili looked up from their conversation, and Fili stopped mid-reenactment to listen to the wizard.  
"I think we should adjourn to the library. Dain?"  
"Aye, I'll secure it. You lot can take the back passage, I'll let you in through the hatch."  
As Dain strode away, the hobbit, elf, and dwarves gathered close to the wizard.  
"Something is amiss here," he began, "and I would like to know exactly how you three came to be back amongst the living before I celebrate your return. Bilbo, if you could collect the candle, we might need it. Balin, lead the way."

Bilbo quickly pried up the remains of the candle and fell into step beside Tauriel as Gandalf and the dwarves quickly slipped out of the room.  
"I'm afraid Bag End may have to wait." Bilbo murmured.  
"I believe I will be able to cope with a postponed visit." Tauriel replied with a smile as they put the tombs behind them for the second time that day.

* * *

'The hatch' was much more impressive than the name implied. After a dark climb up a tight spiral staircase, an entire shelf of books swung open to let them into the library. Dust billowed as the hatch silently slid across the floor, caught in thick beams of moonlight that spilled in through a dozen skylights cut into the vaulted ceiling. Bilbo and Tauriel gazed around in awe at the sheer size of the place, much to the dwarves' amusement.

Gandalf immediately sprang into action, striding down a row to the left. Dain shut the hatch as the rest of the group followed, kicking up a hundred years' worth of dust as they followed the wizard through the maze of shelves. Eventually he stopped, coming to a particularly dusty section, the mixed books and scrolls partially unorganized.

"Alright, all of you take something and search. Look for anything that mentions life, death, or anything about candles or rituals. Marked lines, handwritten notes, anything that seems off." Gandalf barked, and each member of the party grabbed the nearest material. Silence, broken occasionally by muttering or a quiet question to the wizard, stretched until the moonbeams faded and were replaced with pale pre-dawn light.

Bilbo sighed and blinked heavily as he flipped through a book of translated elvish poems, one of the books that the dwarves had wrinkled their noses at. Bilbo had gladly taken the tome, but was now regretting picking the large volumes that was balanced across his knees. Nearby, Thorin was skimming a history of his family line, looking every bit as studious as if he had just sat down. He looked up slowly, as if he felt the hobbit's gaze.

"Have you found something?" the king murmured quietly, but Bilbo shook his head.  
"I just can't see why Gandalf is so…anxious." he whispered back, glancing at the wizard while he was immersed in a set of scrolls further down the row.  
"Gandalf is right to worry," Thorin said, "There are many unseen forces in the world, and not all of them fair or benevolent. I will not risk these borrowed days by being willfully ignorant of the circumstances or of a price that must be eventually be paid."  
"You all seem so determined that something foul is afoot! Can none of you be happy to be alive?"  
"Not if our lives have come at some hidden cost to you!" Thorin rumbled a little louder, then lowered his voice. "A life is not easily meddled with, Bilbo, and three will no doubt come at some high price." He was quiet for a moment, deep in thought. "It might come down to the exchange of your life for ours."  
"Well, that seems like a fine bargain, if it means the three of you get to live." Bilbo muttered.  
"You _cannot_ mean that!"  
"I can, and I do. I'm no king that will be missed, nor a brother that will be mourned. The only ceremony following my death would be an auction of my furniture."

Thorin was quiet for a long moment, something dark and sad behind his blue eyes as he stared at Bilbo. "Do you truly believe that no one would despair at your death?" the king asked quietly, his melancholy tone making it hard for Bilbo to look away. Eventually he glanced back down at his book, a bit embarrassed for some reason unknown to him. He turned the page and frowned.  
"What is it?" Thorin asked, seeing Bilbo's scowl.  
"There's a page missing…" he replied, running a hand down the center of the book where the ripped remnants of a page stuck out. Gandalf looked up at that, immediately sliding between the rows of books to examine Bilbo's book. The hobbit silently passed over the volume to the wizard, standing and stretching as he rose. Gandalf mumbled to himself, flipping back and forth between pages as he began pacing. Thorin flipped through a few more pages of his own book, then stopped when he reached a page recounting the Song of Durin – a quartered piece of parchment lay tucked into the book.

"Gandalf." Thorin held up the page and began unfolding it. Bilbo strode over, looking over Thorin's elbow as he gently flattened the page. Both sides were written in large Tengwar script – one side was metered like a poem, and the other was full, like a short essay or journal entry – with no notes or scribbles along the borders. Gandalf strode over, peering over the top of Thorin's head as the rest of the small group perked up at the change of atmosphere.  
"Gandalf? What is it?" Fili asked from his seat a row over as he put a stack of maps down.  
"It is an elvish poem, a prophesy from the first age, I believe. I'm not familiar with this tale." The wizard mused, frowning as he picked up the paper.  
"Can you read it?" Bilbo asked, silently cursing his limited language knowledge.  
"Hmm. It goes as such:

When thief awakens fire  
It's shade shall waketh kings,  
Then crowns must smother flames  
Before last sun of spring.

If shield and sword and arrow  
Cannot end shadow's flame,  
Shall slumber take their bloodline  
And end thy kingly name.

All hope is not yet forfeit  
If ring should come to aid  
The company of Kingsblood  
And seize victorious day.

Then over Durin seven  
Crown glints from ages past  
With strings of silver starlight  
And rightful throne at last."

* * *

Half a world away, in the deeps of an ancient dwarven kingdom, a shadow stirred. Smoke crawled across the mountain stone, and a long-slumbering ember shuddered once, then crackled and smoldered into life.


	7. Rings and Murder

A/N: Happy Monday! I hope you all are well and that your Valentine's Day was full of love. As always, feel free to contact me about the story! I'm very interested in hearing what people like and dislike in stories - constructive criticism is how we grow :) Cheers!

* * *

No one said anything for a moment, each one puzzling over the strange new tale.  
"So what is this prophesy about?" Dain asked aloud, breaking the tense silence.  
"I do not know, and that is what troubles me."  
"It was with the song of Durin's awakening, Gandalf." Thorin rumbled.  
"Are the two works connected somehow?" Balin mused as Gandalf handed the book back to Thorin.  
"I cannot say. But prophecies of this nature are seldom wrong – we must divine the nature of this work sooner as opposed to later."

Conversations began buzzing around the group as theories were proposed, questioned, then ultimately discarded. Bilbo wandered a short distance away from the group, quietly going over phrases of the poem in his head. Tauriel watched him from her seat on a stack of piled ledgers, frowning as the hobbit mumbled to himself, kicking up dust that hung suspended in the still air. After a moment he froze and looked up, eyes ablaze as the first stanza clicked into place.

"I am the thief." He said, and instantly felt six pairs of eyes on him. "In the poem, I mean, I'm the thief."

The small group was silent. Bilbo shifted nervously under the sudden attention.  
"In the- in the prophecy, it mentions that the thief wakes a fire, which I did. I lit that candle, and then you three woke up."  
"So that makes us the crowns?" Fili asked, looking between Thorin and Kili.  
"Who else?" Bilbo replied, looking at Gandalf as the wizard retrieved the lump of red wax from his bag.  
"But how do we smother a fire when it's not burning?" Kili asked.  
"Perhaps the fire is not here." Gandalf finally spoke, his face set with heavy grim lines. Under the gaze of four dwarves, a hobbit, and an elf, the wizard sighed.

"I think there may be a reason this tale was hidden in the book of your fathers, Thorin. Tales of fire and shadow are heavy in your family line, and I fear that the fires and shadows in this poem are not separate events but rather one obstacle. Do you know how the last Durin fell?"  
"He was slain in Moria, by a Balrog of Morgoth." He quietly replied as his face hardened with sudden realization.  
"Thereafter the creature was called Durin's Bane; a terrible creature from the Elder days, made of foul flames and wreathed in shadows. Awakened by the mining of the Khazad-dum dwarves, it is the reason why none now live there."  
Bilbo could feel himself gape at the tale. "You think _that_ is the fire that I woke? I have enough trouble starting a campfire, let alone a Balrog! I've never even been to Moria!" Bilbo protested feeling something heavy and uncomfortable settle in the pit of his stomach.  
"This candle has seen a fair bit of magic, from what I can tell. The back of this page recounts a spell of awakening that may be placed over a lantern, and I imagine with a bit of creativity the same spell can be placed over a candle." Gandalf replied gently, frowning as Bilbo's breath picked up.

"So…so you think that I've awakened a Balrog, and that's the same magic is what woke these three?" Bilbo asked, reeling under the implications of his innocent actions. When Gandalf did not reply, the room seemed to whirl around the little hobbit, making him grope for a nearby shelf to steady himself as his knees buckled under the weight of a Balrog settling over his shoulders. He found himself being gently, but firmly, guided to a footstool, his vision swimming as he stared numbly at his hands and felt the blood drain from his face. The poem echoed around his head, mocking his foolish naiveté until two armored hands came into his field of view, gently gripping his trembling forearms. He rolled his head around, meeting Thorin's eyes as the dwarf crouched in front on him.

"I've killed you," muttered Bilbo. Thorin stared at him in surprise.  
"On the contrary, Master Burglar. You have given us an opportunity to fight for the lives that we now have a chance of living."  
"The poem said the end of spring! That's less than half a year!"  
"Then at the very least I will live each of those precious days fighting for a future that you have given us. Can you not be happy that we are alive?" Thorin reasoned with a small smile.  
"That's no fair. I said that first."  
"They are good and just words, and still very relevant."  
"I just…Fili, and Kili-"  
"Are alive and well, which is more than they were yesterday. Look." Thorin said, nodding towards the little group.

The two princes, Balin, and Tauriel were in deep conversation with Gandalf and Dain. Kili was pulling a face behind Balin's head, making it very difficult for Fili and Tauriel to keep from laughing. Bilbo stood abruptly, taking his arms our of Thorin's friendly grasp as he quietly cleared his throat and marched towards the group. Thorin slowly stood, more than a little confused about Bilbo's sudden attitude change, but followed him silently towards the spirited conversation.

"And so we'll need to bring…ah, what was is, sword and bow?" Fili mused.  
"Shield, sword, and arrow." Replied Tauriel smoothly.  
"And what's that about a ring coming? Do we need to wear jewelry when we kill the beast?" Kili asked, at which Gandalf shook his head.  
"No, I believe that references myself." With a subtle flourish, Gandalf put out his hand, where a simple gold and ruby ring glittered in the gloom. "This is Narya, the Ring of Fire, one of the three rings of power given to the elves."

The small group gathered close, admiring the simple ring. It seemed to flicker with some inner light, as its name suggested. Bilbo felt a tug coming from the pocket where his own ring was hidden – he put a hand in the pocket, trying to quell the uneasy feeling. Thorin stepped up behind the hobbit, frowning as Gandalf withdrew his hand.

"You had such a thing all this time? Why not use it? It might have aided our quest." Thorin rumbled, crossing his arms.  
"Magic rings are not to be used lightly, Thorin."  
"So you thought reclaiming Erebor was a 'light' use of power?" Thorin demanded, a storm cloud gathering on his brow.  
"You misunderstand me. Magic, as we have seen, today, will always have restrictors, or rules which it _must_ follow, and nearly always comes at a very high price. Given that a ring is deliberately mentioned in this work, I can only assume that now would be a good time for me to put it to use."  
"There's no mention of Narya by name, Gandalf." Balin said, looking more than slightly worried.  
"Well, unless one of you is hiding a ring of power, I doubt the meaning could be clearer." The wizard replied merrily, and the rest of the group made murmurs of agreement. Bilbo played along, bobbing his head and clasping his hands behind his back, leaving his own ring safe inside his vest.

As the group began murmuring amongst itself, Gandalf re-examined the parchment. The poem was straightforward enough, but the other side held notes of some kind, similar to a task list or recipe. Gandalf's frown deepened as he read, realization dawning on his face halfway down the page. Only Bilbo, who had been watching the wizard, caught his change of mood.  
"Gandalf? What is it?"  
"Oh, my dear Bilbo. What a thing you gotten yourself wrapped up into." The wizard said sadly, heaving a great sigh as he looked fondly down at the little hobbit. Bilbo squinted at him nervously.  
"Gandalf?"  
"I seem to have found the price for setting the tale in motion."  
"Out with it, Gandalf." Thorin rumbled as the wizard hemmed and hawed, clearly not wanting to impart whatever knowledge he had uncovered.  
"It seems the price…may very well end up being your life, Bilbo Baggins."


	8. Borrowed Days

A/N: As always, don't hesitate to let me know what you guys think! I always look forward to hearing feedback - I'm writing this for you all as well as myself :) Cheers!

* * *

Thorin scowled at Gandalf's revelation, eyes dark and thunderous once more.  
"Explain, Gandalf." He asked, not unkindly, as he stole a glace towards the pale hobbit beside him. Gandalf stepped forward with a sigh, looking fondly down at Bilbo.  
"I fear you may be right in that you are the thief, my friend. If so, and if Balrog is not defeated, you perish along with the line of Durin."  
Silence followed this, and Bilbo shifted uncomfortably as all eyes landed on him.  
"The candle spell, it would seem, was somehow linked to this poem," Gandalf continued, "apparently whomever sets the spell in motion is bound to the prophecy as well. There is a passage…here it is. 'Each day the waker dwindles, for strength is price of spell, and if King's quest should flounder, then caster falls as well.'" He read aloud from the backside of the poem, then quietly folded it up as he finished. Bilbo blinked, expecting more to follow, but was met only with silence. He could feel Thorin simmering behind him, the anxious stare of Fili, Balin's apologetic worry…

"What, is that it?" he asked, earning a frown from the wizard.  
"These are not simple stories to be scoffed at, Bilbo Baggins! I would appreciate a little gravity, given the situation!"  
"Gandalf, you know I don't doubt you. But at the moment, I believe _a possible live Balrog_ is a more pressing matter than trying to figure out when an ancient elvish scribe believes that I'm going to die!" The hobbit ground out, feeling some color finally return to his cheeks.  
"Bilbo is right." Fili said quietly, and all eyes fell on him. "If we are to defeat this creature, we need to focus on how it is to be done, instead of speculating what may come to pass. We will need a plan if we hope to conquer this evil."

The group began muttering amongst themselves, each having his or her own idea about how best to proceed. Dain addressed the group first.  
"Of course you'll have my army at your back, whatever plan ye decide on."  
"No, Dain, no armies." Thorin replied.  
"This task must rely on stealth and cunning if we are to have any chance of success." Gandalf murmured.  
"We'll need to leave soon, with a small group. Should we tell the company?" Balin asked, looking to Thorin for approval.  
"Not yet. They already know of our end on the battlefield – if we should be killed again, that would be more pain than they deserve."  
"So then who'll keep Erebor?" asked Kili, looking between his uncle and Dain, who stepped forward.  
"I'd be happy to hold down the fort while you lot are away, so long as you promise to come take it off my hands." Thorin nodded in agreement.

Nearly an hour later, a plan was still being hammered out somewhere between Thorin's rumbling, Fili's clever adjustments, Gandalf's warnings, and Dain's support. The sun was well on the rise, cutting through the dusty air in thick beams of pale gold. Bilbo had situated himself on the floor in a patch of light, sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor, content to let the warm glow burn away unsavory thoughts for the moment. He occasionally caught a snippet of conversation as the group conversed – only Kili was left out, having fallen asleep in a bundle of leather and fur nearby. Bilbo only half listened, nearly nodding off several times.

"-eed weapons and supplies, of course-"  
"-is going? Surely Kili and I-"  
"-Dis should know, at the very least-"  
"-I will send word to her-"  
"-leave at first light tomorrow, I think-"

"Bilbo?"  
The hobbit jolted awake, unaware of even falling asleep seated in the thick dust. He blinked in the sudden light, squinting up into Thorin's face.  
"Hmm? What is it, Thorin?" he mumbled blearily, drawing out the smallest of rare grins from the dwarf.  
"We've finalized our plan."  
"Oh, yes yes, of course. Explain away." Bilbo groaned as he stood up and stretched, wincing as several joints popped. At this point, most of the group had shuffled away, herded towards the hatch by Dain with promises of hot food and blankets.  
"Off to the North Wing, I think." Balin told Dain, loud enough so that Thorin and Bilbo were aware. Thorin nodded, and they strode away as he turned back to Bilbo.  
"I leave tomorrow, at dawn. Fili, Kili, and Gandalf will join me, and Balin and Dain will rule while we are away."  
"And what about me?"  
"What _of _you?" Thorin replied, his neutral tone making the hobbit's temper flare.  
"Did you miss the part _where I might die_ if this quest fails?" Bilbo snorted.  
"I cannot ask you to come. I have already dragged you across half the world, and to ask you to throw yourself into another hopeless battle would be unfair."  
"Had it ever occurred to you that I might want to come?" Bilbo retorted, feeling his anger boil over.  
"Did you not hear Gandalf's warning?" Thorin asked, a heavy frown settling on his features. "Every day you will fade from this world – I had hoped this revelation would prompt you to return to the Shire, where you might rest until this beast is overcome!"

Bilbo laughed hollowly, putting his hands on his hips as he fought the urge to punch Thorin right across the mouth. "Because three dwarves and a wizard are _completely_ capable of taking down a Balrog!"  
"And you think your presence would turn the tide in our favor?"  
"_I will not risk these borrowed days_, Thorin, not when there is _any_ chance that I can help!"  
"Despite your courage, you are no warrior-"  
"And I am not some shrinking violet to be kept out of harm's way!"

Thorin was silent, staring at the irate hobbit as he paced around the little square of light. Bilbo knew he was letting his temper run rampant, and after a moment he forced his breathing to slow. He stopped pacing, his back to Thorin, staring for a few moments at the hunched outline of his shadow against the dreary floor.

"I watched you die, you know." Bilbo finally said, his voice low. He rubbed a hand tiredly across his face, turning back to the mountain king. "I watched your life flicker and fade, while I sat back and could do nothing. Once was enough, I think, so prepare yourself for an addition to your journey come tomorrow morning."  
"I have no right to ask such a thing of you, not after all I've put you through." Thorin murmured. Bilbo was suddenly struck by his humble tone, and could feel some of his anger dissolve. His shoulders unclenched, and he felt himself smiling fondly at his dwarf friend despite their current argument.  
"You have _every_ right, Thorin Oakenshield."  
"How can you say that?" Thorin demanded, half frustrated, half bewildered. "You've nearly been killed numerous times, several at my own hand! And yet you would still endanger yourself on my behalf?"  
"Yes." Bilbo replied simply, secretly enjoying confusion ripple over Thorin's face.  
"Why? How can you possibly justify such actions?"  
"Because that's what friends do, Thorin. At least in the Shire. They look out for each other, even when the going gets tough. And from what Gandalf said, the going is indeed going to get tough. I'd like to help you, and Fili and Kili, in any way that I can."

Thorin was silent again for a moment, one hand absently fiddling with a jeweled armor buckle. Bilbo suspected that this sort of argument was rarely had amongst dwarves, who were probably able to defend themselves an hour after birth and would attack anyone who said otherwise. Eventually he took pity on the awkward dwarf king.  
"Now, are we in agreement?"  
"It would be more trouble to try and keep you somewhere safe, I think." Thorin rumbled with a small smile.  
"I'll be perfectly fine. I'm not some great treasure to be protected, you know."  
"Are you not?"

Bilbo scoffed at that, unable to reply. Here he was, a simple hobbit of the Shire, practically bullying his friend – who happened to be a dwarf king that recently returned to life – into letting him go try to kill a Balrog. The whole situation seemed so absurd that Bilbo could feel himself grinning. Thorin grinned back, a soft, relieved smile that made him looks years younger. Bilbo nodded in the direction of the exit, and Thorin motioned for him to lead the way through the gloom.


	9. A Deal of Gems

A/N: Thank you to those of you who review! A bit of a longer chapter - feedback is, as always, much appreciated. Cheers!

* * *

Dale was bustling with activity. Man and elf alike stepped to and fro, carrying this bundle of clothes or that bottle of tonic. Taurial, Bilbo and Balin paused at the city's enterance, and after an invitational nod from Balin, Tauriel quickly took the lead, weaving through the commotion with ease. She ducked through ruined courtyards and narrow streets, gliding around dead trees and orc carcasses while Balin stared around in bittersweet awe. Bilbo glanced around as he followed, feeling a strange sense of melancholy seep under his skin; the city was once undoubtedly beautiful, and he couldn't help but regret its current state of ruin. Finally the familiar orange tent loomed into view, almost glowing in the clear morning light. Two guards were posted at the entrance, and to Bilbo's surprise they merely nodded to Tauriel and let them pass without question.

The scene was much the same as when Bilbo had stolen away several days ago – Bard and Thranduil were pouring over documents on a large table, although instead of Gandalf there was a handful of weary men and elves clustered nearby. They all looked up as the trio entered, varying degrees of surprise on their faces. Thranduil alone remained unmoved, but a silent wave of his hand sent his elves sliding away with Bard's men close behind. Tauriel gave a stiff bow once the tent was cleared of strangers.  
"My lord."  
"Tauriel." Thranduil replied, his face a careful neutral as the two elves let the silence stretch. Bard and Balin awkwardly watched the tense exchange, and Bilbo wrinkled his nose as the quiet remained unbroken.  
"We've come to make a deal." he finally piped up, and Thranduil turned his gaze down to the little hobbit.

At this Balin stepped forward, a small bundle of midnight fabric clutched between his gloved hands. He laid it gently on the table, and Thranduil stepped slowly around the table to stand beside him. A single hand reached out, pulling corners of navy velvet away from the object inside. All at once, the contents were revealed; the Gems of Lasgalen glittered brightly against the blue fabric, illuminating the lines of surprise on the Elvenking's feature.

"How came you by this?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral.  
"My king bid me come to trade for the Arkenstone."  
"A gem for a gem." Thranduil mused, lightly running his hand over the filigree silver.  
"He knows that this will not erase the past, but he hopes to establish a mutually beneficial relationship in the future." The dwarf rattled off, reciting the words carefully. Thranduil smirked.  
"Perhaps Dain will make a better king then Thorin Oakenshield would have."  
"Will you accept, Lord Thranduil?" Balin asked tightly, and the elf smiled ever so slightly down at him.  
"The bargain is acceptable." He stated, and began folding up the cloth as a glint in the corner caught Bilbo's eyes.  
"The king also requested one more thing." Bilbo blurted, nearly stepping back at the sudden weight of four surprised gazes.

* * *

Half an hour later, the trio stepped out of the billowing tent. Balin had the Arkenstone carefully tucking into some hidden pocket, and Bilbo's pack was bulkier than it had been earlier. Bard had also given him a spare cape, and although the thick red material was light and warm, it was naturally oversized and occasionally a corner swept across the ground. Bard had also managed to locate a fully loaded quiver for Tauriel after Thranduil had stiffly given her a bow. Bilbo looked up at the silent elf as they strode back through the battered city, starting to become aware of the minute expressions flickering behind her eyes.  
"You don't have to come with us, you know." He said, and she looked down at him with a kind smile.  
"I have more cause to go than stay. I think it will do me good to see more of the world, even if it is not the Shire."  
"Had you never left Mirkwood?"  
"No, not properly until this battle began brewing. I have wandered, but never very far."  
"Well, once this is all over I hope you will wander back to the Lonely Mountain. Both of you." Balin finally spoke, and Tauriel looked rather startled before returning his kind smile.

They had reached the edge of the ruined city – tents had been haphazardly strung up from the stone walls for the men, and the elves had pitched their own camps further down. The buzz that had permeated the center of the city was a distant hum, leaving the outskirts nearly empty excepting the handful of guards that had been posted at every entrance. The trio came to a slow halt at a bend in the road that wove towards Erebor's gates, no one wanting to be the first to turn away.

"Well, Bilbo, I'm expecting to see you before the year is out." Balin stated with a watery smile.  
"I'll do my best to live up to that." The hobbit replied, and the pair shared a brief, tight hug.  
"And I'll have your letter sent as soon as a post system can be reached." The dwarf said as they pulled apart.  
"Oh, right. Can't have my family sell off my things! Heaven forbid Lobelia get her claws within half a mile of Bag End…" Bilbo shuddered, making Balin chuckle.  
"We should be off." Tauriel said quietly, and Bilbo nodded.  
"Remember, feel free to use my fourteenth to pay for repairs!" the hobbit stated as he and Tauriel began walking away, and Balin waved in reply before striding towards Erebor. Bilbo huffed, glancing once behind him at the green stone gate, then turned back to lead Tauriel onwards.

They climbed for nearly an hour, scaling the lower slopes of the mountain as the sun continued to rise. Bilbo found himself easily remembering the path from several days prior – _was it really only a few days ago?_ – and Tauriel was quiet as she easily followed the hobbit across the harsh stone landscape. As Bilbo walked, the terrain became more and more familiar; memories flickered through his head like ghosts, leading him on under the pale midday sun. He trudged on, Tauriel in tow, and was starting to wonder if they had gotten lost when their destination suddenly loomed out of the mountain's craggy side.

Thror's statue was just as magnificent the second time. Hewn out of the mountain itself, Bilbo took a moment to revel in the craftsmanship of the monument. Tauriel stared up at the huge carving, mouth slightly open as she drank in the sight.  
"Is that Thror?" she asked as they paused to catch their breath.  
"Mhmm. There's a door up there - that's how we got into the mountain." Bilbo replied, pointing up at the barely-visible ledge beyond Thror's weapon.  
"A secret door…" the elf breathed. "That was why you were stumbling through the forest so urgently."  
Bilbo chuckled, shielding his eyes against the sun as he squinted up at the statue – three tiny figures could be seen descending down the stairs. He started forwards and Tauriel followed; the hobbit couldn't help but smile at the elf's child-like wonder.

Bilbo and Tauriel were the first to reach the foot of the towering stone dwarf, and settled on a large flat rock as they both basked in the cloudless sunshine. They were eventually joined by Thorin, Fili and Kili, a little flushed from their climb, and each sporting a pack of some kind and not a wink of armor in sight. Thorin and Fili were dressed in plain dwarvish clothes – sturdy linen layers covered by various leather coats given to them by Dain – and Fili had kept most of his archer's leathers, although loose threads showed that the mirrored accents had been haphazardly removed for the sake of stealth.

"Argh, I _told_ you they would beat us!" Kili groaned, flopping onto the ground where Bilbo and Tauriel sat.  
"Well _someone_, I won't say who, kept falling back asleep until their covers were ripped off…" Fili trailed off, sitting much more regally beside his limp and pouting brother.  
"You know how much I hate it when you do that!"  
"Why else do you think I do it?" Fili laughed, dodging a pebble that Kili flicked in his direction.  
"Now we are only waiting on Gandalf." Thorin rumbled, settling on the ground beside Bilbo.  
"You know," the hobbit began, "if he's always going to be late—"

"A wizard is never late, Bilbo Baggins!" boomed Gandalf's voice from nearby, startling the small group. He came around a bend and into view a moment later, two horses and four ponies in tow. The five companions all stood with varying degrees of grace as the wizard drew near with a mock scowl on his face.  
"A wizard is never early, either! He arrives precisely when he means to." Gandalf stated with a pinch of mock gravity, making the hobbit smile.  
"I stand amended in my ways, Master Wizard, and beg your humble forgiveness." Bilbo replied with a low bow.  
"Given wholeheartedly my friend. Now, we must be off, sooner rather than later." The wizard said, returning to the business at hand. "Dain sent me with these ponies – they're not as hardy as those from Ered Luin, but they are swifter and light on their feet. The horse is from Bard."

Each of the dwarves and Bilbo took the reigns of a pony, and Gandalf passed the bridle of a lean spotted horse off to Tauriel. Only the white horse remained, although there was no saddle or bridle to be seen as he pranced playfully around the wizard. Gandalf murmured to the horse under his breath, almost as if scolding the wily beast, and eventually it trotted forward and Gandalf was able to swing himself up. Bilbo quickly strapped his pack onto the back of his saddle, clumsily pulling himself up over the side of his brown steed as the dwarves did the same.

"We ride west!" Gandalf called, nudging his horse into a trot down the slopes. The others quickly followed, forming a line down the steep mountain path. The mountain quickly fell away behind them as they descended to the grassy plains below, and as the group spread out Bilbo felt a niggling sense of loss wrap tenderly around his heart. He glanced behind him to watch the mountain recede, knowing full well that this might be his last view of Erebor. He glanced over a Thorin, who had been doing exactly the same. No words were needed; as Thorin looked over at the hobbit, they both knew the king was experiencing the same bittersweet doubts.


	10. Lostomai, mellonin

A/N: And they're off! If you've got any sort of comment/suggestion/correction, etc, please don't hesitate to contact me! I would love to hear your thoughts :) Cheers!

* * *

Bilbo shivered and wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. Despite the clear afternoon sunshine, the air was nothing less than frigid as the small group trotted further and further from the warmth of Erebor. Mirkwood forest stretched across the horizon to their left, and the Grey Mountains were a jagged blur to their right. The field they were riding through was mostly covered with knee-high grasses, occasionally broken by a small hill or patch of woodland brush. Only Tauriel appeared unaffected by the chill, apart from the flush across her cheeks and knuckles.

"Make for the forest, we should set up for the night." Gandalf barked from the front of the troupe, and the other five riders obediently followed his orders. The trees, still furnished with their gold and brown leaves, were less twisted than those further south, and their foliage shimmered in the descending sun. Gandalf dismounted and led the way several yards into the thick forest, followed closely by Tauriel. Gandalf abruptly stopped in a tiny clearing, then turned around and smiled.

"Well, this should do quite nicely for the night."  
"What about the spiders?" Fili asked as he slid from his pony.  
"Not a problem. They're on the opposite side of the forest, nearly four hundred miles from here. We will not cross them on this journey."  
"Are you sure you wouldn't like to start a fire, Master Baggins? As you're so good at it…" Kili offered with a wide grin as Bilbo nearly tumbled off his pony on the leafy floor.  
"No, thank you. I've done enough kindling, awakening, and lighting to last me the rest of my life. Which may only be a few months." He replied dryly, making the dwarf grin even wider as he continued pushing leaves and stones into the proper circle.  
"Where exactly does this journey end, Gandalf?" Thorin asked as he began tying up the ponies, "Khazad-dûm is our destination, but how do you plan on getting us there?"  
"Ah, we will ride to Siryamen, where we can follow the Anduin to Lorien. We will find friendly shelter there, and the Dimrill Dale is near their borders."  
"Elves. I should have guessed."

Thorin stalked away, leaving the rest of the group set about their tasks. Tauriel and Bilbo began unloading the packs while Gandalf murmured something about 'checking their surroundings.' With Gandalf gone and Thorin brooding in the distance, the four remaining travelers were able to set up camp with no arguments besides the typical sibling teasing. The light was fading fast but the tents were pitched and the fire was crackling well before sunset, so Bilbo, Tauriel, and the two dwarf princes lounged contentedly around the fire as the world fell asleep around them.

"Have any of you actually been to Seeriahmen?" Bilbo asked, drawing a smile from Tauriel.  
"It is pronounced _seer_-yah-men, the place of two rivers. I have never been, but much of our cloth comes from their weavers."  
"I've never heard of it. What sort of place is it?"  
"It is built at the joining of two rivers – where the rivers Greylin and Langwell meet and feed into the Anduin. It is the capitol of the realm of Neleduin, the place of three rivers."  
"I'm surprised Erebor didn't trade with them." Kili mused, absently poking the fire.  
"I think they did, once, in Thror's early days. When Thror was taken by greed, trade stopped." Fili said, whittling some little twig as he spoke.  
"Is it and Elvish place? Or one of Men?" Bilbo asked.  
"Men, mostly, although King Thranduil often sends elves to ferry good between realms. Siryamen people are very superstitious, and do not like to travel through our wood."  
"Siryamen…does it have a Westron name?"  
"It does – it was built on the ruins of Framsburg, and the name remains. Although the city is bilingual; they are just as likely to speak in either Westron or Elvish."  
"I wish I knew Elvish." The hobbit murmured, scooting closer to the fire.  
"I could…teach you?" Tauriel offered quietly, and Bilbo grinned up at her.  
"Would you really? I mean, if it's not too much trouble."  
"No, it would be my pleasure! We shall start on letters tomorrow." Tauriel stated happily.

The sun, now dipping close to the horizon, cast a warm glow through the thick trees, throwing dappled orange light across the happy quartet. Thorin, despite his brooding attitude, was eventually persuaded by Bilbo to come close to the fire once Gandalf strode in from the depths of the darkening wood. While Kili tended the fire and Fili looked after the ponies, Tauriel slipped away in search of wildlife that might be caught for dinner; she returned shortly thereafter, handing over a trio of rabbits for Kili to skin and roast. They were eaten in companionable quiet – the group was content to wallow in the sounds of the night rather than shout and laugh as the Company had often done on the road.

"You all should sleep – I'll take the first watch." Thorin eventually rumbled, having caught Gandalf lightly snoring from his seat by the fire.  
"Bedrolls are in my pack," Kili said with a stretch, "I'll fetch them."  
"Fili, a knife?"  
"Aye, here you go." Fili pulled a hunting knife from his sleeve and tossed it over the fire. Thorin easily caught it, but the glint in the orange light reminded Bilbo of something-

"Hold on a minute, I've got something better." The hobbit proclaimed, standing and shuffling towards his bulky pack. He rummaged around for a moment, then returned to the fire with a triumphant smile. In his hands was none other than Orcrist, glimmering as if freshly wrought in the firelight. Gandalf grinned sleepily at the familiar blade, and Tauriel did her best to hide a knowing smile. Thorin was showing more emotion than he had all day – the surprise was evident on his features, and Bilbo couldn't help but relish the feeling of shocking the stoic mountain king.

"It'll defend you better than that, anyway." Bilbo added awkwardly, nodded to the hunting knife in the dwarf's hand. "Could I offer you a trade?" Thorin was quiet for a moment, then rose and stepped over to wear Bilbo stood.  
"It hardly seems a fair bargain." He rumbled, raising his eyebrows fondly at the hobbit.  
"Nonsense. This blade is too large for the likes of me – it is better suited to your hands, I think."  
"Then how can I refuse?" Thorin smiled, handing Bilbo the knife and taking the offered sword in one smooth motion. He admired the scabbard openly, then looked back up at Bilbo.  
"How came you by this?"  
"When we took the Gems of Lasgalen to Thranduil, I might have hinted that Orcrist was part of the offered deal." Bilbo mused, ignoring Tauriel's pointed cough.  
"You haggled with the Elvenking?" Kili asked with an incredulous smile. Bilbo only gave short bow and a wink in reply.  
"It would seem your subtleties and skills extend to words as well as theft, Master Burglar."  
"What can I say? I saw a chance and took it." Bilbo replied simply, returning to his pack for his bedroll.  
"I am glad of your silver-tongued cunning; Orcrist will serve me better than a skinning knife. No offense to your knife choice, Fili."  
"None taken, uncle. If you wake me at midnight, I'll take next watch." The blond dwarf replied merrily, unfurling his bedroll near the fire as Thorin nodded.

The rest of the group followed suit, clustering around the dying fire. Gandalf had his hat tipped over his eyes, and Fili and Kili were heaped in a pile, buried together under their combined blankets. _Can't really blame them_, Bilbo thought, _after seeing my brother murdered I'd want to spend as much time as possible with him too_. He spread his bedroll out between the slumbering wizard and Tauriel, who had wrapped her blanket several times around herself before laying down.

"_Lostomai, mellonin_." She whispered to Bilbo as he settled down.  
"What does that mean?" He whispered back, wriggling around to glance at her.  
"Sleep well, my friend. In Quenya."  
"…I am glad to hear you call me friend."  
"Only if you will return the favor – I should hate our friendship to be unbalanced."  
"Happily – _lostomai, mellonin_."


	11. Fathers and Sparrows

A/N: A small break from the plot for a bit of character-centric chapter this time. If you've got any comments, questions, suggestion, fell free to let me know. It's always nice to hear from you readers. Cheers!

* * *

Bilbo was the first to wake as pre-dawn light began filtering through the trees. He lay still for a few moments, relishing the quiet, until a light weight gently fell onto his chest. His eyes fluttered open, frowning at the strange feeling, and he found himself face to face with a large, glossy-feathered raven. The raven croaked quietly and nipped at the surprised hobbit's curls, then jumped delicately to the leafy ground, tipping its head to the side and ruffling its blue-black wings cheerfully…_if a bird _can _be cheerful_, the hobbit wondered.

Bilbo sat up with a lopsided smile, feeling his Took blood stir at the strange sight. The bird hopped away towards the edge of the wood, and he slowly pushed himself upright and followed. _After all, I'm already awake_, he thought blearily as he slung his cape about his shoulder and padded after the bouncing bird.

Thorin was seated on a log at the edge of the wood, looking out at the frosty field to the north with Orcrist propped up nearby. To Bilbo's delight and wonder, several dozen birds fluttered about him – there was a whole flock of sparrows, two more ravens, a little falcon, and a handful of tiny, colorful songbirds chirping quietly around the dwarf; a pair of owls hooted sleepily from a branch above the dwarf's head. The hobbit couldn't help but smile as he heard Thorin murmuring to them, occasionally pulling out a few pieces of dried fruit or bread. On impulse, Bilbo dove into his pack and took out the heel of yesterday's loaf of bread – it was long since stale, but he knew birds couldn't care less.

The raven hopped about in place as Bilbo withdrew the bread then continued bouncing along the ground once he was on the move again, as if to lead him to the forest edge. Bilbo hesitated several feet back, but the raven was having none of it – with an annoyed little caw it leapt forward and tugged on the hem of Bilbo's trousers, and Bilbo couldn't help but grin and obey the strange bird. Thorin looked up as Bilbo stepped into his field of view, returning the hobbit's soft smile.

"You are up early." The dwarf king murmured as the little falcon perched on the log beside him.  
"I like being the first one up. You didn't wake Fili to watch?"  
"I hadn't the heart, and wasn't tired."  
"Ah. Mind if I join you?" Bilbo asked, and with a nod from the dwarf he sat cross-legged on the ground, leaning back on the log where Thorin sat. Bilbo's raven friend hopped around him, croaking animatedly at Thorin, who seemed to be listening with a smile. The rest of the birds shied away from the strange hobbit, but the raven hopped bravely onto Bilbo's left shoulder with a proud caw.

"I see you've met Roäc. He seems quite taken with you."  
"I think I've taken a shine to him as well." Bilbo replied, breaking off a piece of bread for the raven. "I never took you for a bird lover."  
"All birds are precious to dwarves, ravens in particular are sacred to those of us from Erebor for their cunning and love of jewels. Every king in Durin's line has had a connection to bird-kind, and each one manifests itself differently." Thorin explained, stroking the head of the little falcon as two sparrows chirped quietly on his shoulder. "One of my forefathers had a friendship with the Eagles of Manwe, much like Gandalf, and another was able to teach Westron to the ravens of Erebor, in order to better carry messages. It would seem my influence is not so focused, but spans over more of bird kind. Do you…not like them?"  
"Quite the opposite! I have always had a deep love of little wild things." Bilbo replied with a wry smile. "Although I am surprised to see this…flock. I think I would have remembered if this had happened before."  
"This phenomenon only happens when one is king – I was not truly King Under the Mountain until…my father died." Thorin murmured. Bilbo looked up with sad realization.  
"Oh, Thorin, I'm sorry…" Bilbo sighed, his fingers itching to reach out for Thorin's hand. Instead he busied himself with feeding Roäc another bit of bread, smiling lightly at the raven's contented noises.  
"Gandalf found him wandering in the mazes of Dol Guldur, half mad and missing a finger. It seemed he had been there ever since the Battle of Moria. And yet he loved me through his torment, even to the last." Thorin said thickly.

"Losing a parent is never easy, though I don't pretend to know exactly what you are experiencing." Bilbo agreed quietly after a moment of quiet, his gaze settling on the blurry mountains in the distance. "My father was sick for nearly a year before he died. We all had time to prepare for the worst, so that when the time came…the hurt was not as bad as it could have been. But when my mother died…" He paused with a frown, taking a moment to feed another bit of bread to Roäc. "She had been healthy the night before. She had gone to bed after her nightly biscuit and tea, and simply…didn't wake up. My family was a small help of course, but nothing could have prepared me for the sudden _void_ of living alone. There was no word big or heavy enough to describe how my mother's death felt. But in the darkest hours, my father's words would come back. 'Where there is life, there is hope' he used to say, and - especially now - I believe him to be right." Bilbo smiled sadly up at Thorin, who merely hummed with agreement in reply.

Easy silence followed the heavy conversation, each party letting the cobwebs of old grief drift away into the morning mists. After a minute, Roäc croaked softly in Bilbo's ear, once more nipping at his hair. Bilbo offered up another chunk of bread, which the raven quickly devoured. Bilbo reached up hesitantly to scratch the bird under the chin, an action which Roäc happily leaned in to. Thorin watched the brief interaction with a small smile, then held up a finger to the pair of sparrows on his shoulder and murmured a few words to them before turning his gaze back to Bilbo.  
"Hold out your hand, Bilbo."

The hobbit obliged, offering up his left arm. The dwarf took it in his own large hand, then gently deposited the two sparrows on to Bilbo's palm without a word. Thorin slowly released the hobbit's hand, and Bilbo carefully brought it, along with the precious cargo, to rest in his lap. Using his free hand, he ripped off a piece of bread with great concentration and offered it to the little birds, making sure to keep it out of reach of Roäc. In a moment the sparrows were happily devouring the food, cheeping softly. Several more sparrows joined them, as well as a bluebird and pair of blood-red finches, all clustered on the hobbit's hand and knees as he fed each one a small piece of bread with great care. Roäc pecked at Bilbo's collar where the mithril shirt glinted, a little annoyed at the loss of attention, then fluttered to the top of Bilbo's head where he promptly fell asleep.

Bilbo was utterly entranced by the little birds, who now perched and fluttered around him as easily as they did with Thorin. He laughed once and beamed up at the dwarf, who was stroking the head of one of the ravens. Thorin couldn't help but smile back, the sight of the bird-covered hobbit lightening his heart. Soon the sun began peeking over the horizon, sending spears of pink light into the clear sky as the last few stars were chased away by the oncoming day.


	12. Letters and Fear

A/N: Happy Friday! A bit more action this time - fell free to let me know what you all think, I love hearing your feedback! Cheers!

* * *

By midmorning, the company was up and nearly packed for the road. Gandalf was anxious to get back on the move, and everyone else knew better than to disagree with an anxious wizard. The fire was smothered, the ponies were saddled, the bags were packed, and they were on their way. Thorin's birds had dispersed as the camp was dismantled, and Roäc was the last to flap away after a last quick peck at Bilbo's mithril. The day was cool and crisp, and yesterday's clear sky was peppered with huge billowing clouds. The way was easy and level, meaning that the company could focus on more than just where they were leading their ponies.

"Bilbo, have you a notebook?" Tauriel asked as she pulled her horse up beside him.  
"What? Oh, yes, just a moment." He rummaged around in one of the saddlebacks, eventually locating a thick leather journal and a charcoal writing stick. He passed them up to Tauriel, who immediately flipped to the first page and began writing.  
"What are you…?"  
"It is time for you to learn you letters, Master Hobbit. Our script, called tengwar, is phonetic, which means you will have to learn the sounds of each mark before we progress any further."

Bilbo vainly tried to sit up in his saddle to better watch her write, and sat back down with a huff when no amount of straining or stretching seemed to work. Eventually Tauriel passed back the journal – the first few pages had been filled with charts. Along the left side of the pages were individual tengwar marks, with their phonetic sounds written down the middle of the page and the mark's name on the right edge. The hobbit immediately set to work, and was more than slightly surprised when Fili pulled his pony up next to him.

"New reading material?" the prince asked lightly, and Bilbo smiled.  
"Elvish letters - you're welcome to share."  
"Oh no, far be it from me to fancy learning elvish!" Fili stammered a little too loudly with a nervous grin.  
"Right, of course. Valar forbid a crown prince be proactive and try to learn about cultures outside of his own." Bilbo mused, rolling his eyes around in mock distain. Fili immediately dropped his disinterested façade, replacing it with earnest curiosity.  
"I really _do_ want to learn, but I don't know how Thorin will react." The prince murmured, glancing up at the uncle in question who was deep in conversation with Gandalf.  
"If he gives you trouble, it's because he's stuck in his own foolish ways. Good leaders should _always_ make an effort to learn about the world they live in. Gandalf or I will set him straight if it comes to it." Bilbo commented dryly. He passed over the book to the young prince, who handled it with care as he flipped through the foreign letters with hungry eyes.

The rest of the day passed quickly as the small troupe quickly foraged west. Around midday they found the remnants of an old road – long since grown over and flooded, it ran parallel to the forest edge. The only exciting interlude was when Kili's sharp eyes picked up a glint; a handful of tarnished dwarvish coins were half-embedded in the soil along with a few trinkets and bits of jewelry, proof that there had indeed been trade along the route. The little treasures were stored with the rest of the company's coin, and the troupe fell back into the lull of travel.

As evening fell, camp was once more set up just inside the shelter of the forest. Gandalf busied himself with setting up the fire, while Fili sorted through the packs for something edible. Thorin and Kili were out hunting, leaving Bilbo to pour over his tengwar letters under Tauriel's careful eye. Once he was able to pronounce each of the curving letters, Tauriel had him copy a line of each mark on the following blank pages, where she circled the most accurate characters once he had finished.

Once Thorin and Kili returned with materials for supper, the meal was quickly prepared and eaten as the sun slipped below the horizon. The air grew cold once more, although Gandalf's roaring fire kept most of the chill at bay as the company bundled themselves into bedrolls and settled down for the night. Bilbo had offered to keep watch, feeling rather restless after a long, uneventful day. He sat several paces away from the fire, wrapped up in a blanket, and smiled up at Gandalf as the wizard sat beside him.

"You're not sleeping?" the hobbit asked, and the wizard shook his head.  
"No, not tonight I think. I am surprised you volunteered to watch, though."  
"What, do you think I'm incapable? I kept watch many times before Erebor was won—"  
"You misunderstand me, my dear Bilbo. I merely thought that the spell might have begun to take effect, and was worried you were over-exerting yourself. I can see, however, that is not the case." Gandalf chuckled, lighting his pipe as Bilbo scoffed.  
"Nonsense. We don't even know how this supposed spell works, if it is indeed something to worry about." Gandalf didn't reply, puffing on his pipe as the hobbit rambled. The wizard could sense that Bilbo had something brewing just under his skin, and thought it best to wait rather than pry.  
"The truth is, Gandalf," Bilbo finally said quietly, "I'm rather frightened. By this spell, by the Balrog, everything. I'm afraid of not being able to…_do_ enough, when the time comes. I should hate to be a burden, especially on such a vital quest."  
"You are many things, but a burden is not one of them."  
"But what if this spell really does sap my strength? I won't be able to learn elvish or keep watch or do anything useful!" Bilbo simmered for a minute, frustrated. "I'm doing everything that I can now, so that they might be able to save their own strength, and hopefully their futures." He finished quietly, pursing his mouth and picking at the hem of his blanket. Gandalf took another puff, and put a comforting hand on the hobbit's shoulder with a little chuckle.  
"Your deeds do you credit, _mellonin_."  
"Ah, see, now I know what that means!"  
"You are a fast learner indeed. Have you learned any other words?"  
"Just a handful in Quenya. _Alda_ is tree, _vacco_ is cloak, and sword is _megil_." Bilbo rattled off, reaching over to his nearby pack for Sting. "I still have to learn the letters…"

He trailed off as a glimmer caught his eye, and his stomach dropped as he recognized the soft light slipping out from Sting's sheath. He pulled on the hilt, revealing several inches of shimmering blue steel, and Gandalf was instantly on his feet.  
"Up! All of you! Now!" he barked, and the sleeping elf and dwarves were quick to obey once they were awoken by the wizard's harsh tone.  
"Gandalf? What is it?" Thorin demanded, but his eyes fell on Sting's glow as Bilbo stumbled to his feet.  
"Orc! Arm yourselves!" The wizard called, unsheathing Glamdring and prodding the fire with the end of his staff. The flames roared into life, throwing light in all directions, and there was a moment of quiet as the small group tensed, each one wielding their weapon with stiff hands as they shook off the last threads of sleep.

A twig cracked in the distance, and suddenly a dozen shrieking orcs threw themselves into the ring of light. Thorin roared a dwarvish battle cry, and chaos erupted. Kili picked off a few orcs with arrows until Tauriel passed him one of the knives she had buried in an orc's back; Gandalf and Fili were back to back – the dwarf occasionally had to duck as the wizard swung sword and staff in broad circles, and Gandalf easily sidestepped Fili's dual-bladed swipes. Thorin hacked and slashed the oncoming orcs, littering the ground in limbs with a ferocity Bilbo had never seen before. The hobbit was able to hold his own, blocking and swinging through his stiff muscles. The last few orcs were howling and falling at the company's deadly hands, and Bilbo stabbed straight through the shoulder of the last attacker, his little sword pinning the shrieking creature to the tree behind it.

"Wait!" Thorin yelled as Bilbo made to retrieve his blade. The rest of the troupe stood winded around the circle, surrounded by the bodies of their enemies. Gandalf and Thorin stepped up to the squirming orc as Bilbo took a step back, trying to regain his breath. Fili, Kili and Tauriel briefly check each other over for injuries, then joined Bilbo as they sheathed their weapons.

The orc wriggled and yelled as it groped at Sting, trying to pull itself free. Thorin stepped up and stared the creature in the face, holding Orcrist up to its throat.  
"You know what I am going to ask you." The dwarf rumbled, and the orc spat in reply. Thorin pushed his blade closer. "Who sent you?" he demanded icily.  
"Threaten me all ya like, dwarf scum, but word is out among my comrades that Durin's heir still lives!" the orc snarled, and Thorin looked up at the scowling Gandalf.  
"Who sent you?!" the wizard demanded, towering over the trapped creature as his voice boomed like thunder, making the orc quail before him.  
"My master sees all! The price for your head has only gone up, Oakenshield!" the orc screamed, gripping the hilt of Sting even as its flesh sizzled. With a shriek the orc ripped the sword free and leapt at the dwarf king, cutting a deep gash across Thorin's unprotected thigh. Thorin roared in pain and anger, swinging Orcrist with deadly accuracy – the orc's head toppled to the ground as Thorin crumpled to the leafy floor.

Fili and Kili were instantly beside their cursing uncle – Tauriel quickly sliced a long strip of fabric from her tunic and passed it over for Fili to use as a bandage. While Fili bound up his uncles wound, Tauriel and Gandalf began piling the orc carcasses to once side of the camp and Bilbo roused himself out of his shocked stupor to help in the grisly job. Nearly twenty orcs were gathered, including Thorin's attacker, who still loosely gripped Sting in its grimy hand – with a grimace, Bilbo pried the sword loose as Tauriel dragged the body to the pile. He looked down at the blade, revolted to see red blood mixed with black – _Thorin's blood_, the hobbit realized – and hastily wiped the blade across his cloak with shaking hands.

Thorin was hauled to his feet with a grunt by his nephews, and submitted to a quick examination from Gandalf.  
"Missed the artery…good. This will need cleaning and herbs – we should leave now, and make for Siryamen. We might reach them in two day's time if we are swift." The wizard stated, looking up at the lightening sky. "Can you ride?"  
"Yes. I'm not dead, you know." Thorin ground out at Kili went to fetch the ponies.  
"Yes, well, let's try to keep you that way."

The group was quickly on the move – the camp was dismantled and extinguished, and the pile of orcs left to rot under the trees as the stars faded with approach of the rising sun.


	13. The Tale of Yarrow

A/N: Happy Monday to you all - I hope spring is starting to show itself wherever you are! As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter and I look forward to hearing any feedback you have. Cheers!

* * *

They spent all of the next day riding. The hazy dawn did little to lift their spirits – the light was dampened by oncoming clouds that quickly blotted out the sky, blanketing the world in thin grey light. Gandalf led the way along the deserted road, alternating between a slow trot and full-on gallop so that the horses might pace themselves. By afternoon the clouds were thick and heavy, and Thorin hunched and shivered over his saddle. When they stopped for the night, Gandalf confirmed the group's fears – Thorin's wound had contracted an infection.

The next day was spend in much the same manner – riding hard across the deserted field, Bilbo often found his worried gaze drifting to the bundle of blankets around Thorin's broad shoulders – when cleaning the wound had done little to help, each member of the party donated their blanket to try and sweat the rising fever out of the mountain king. The cold winter winds had other plans, whipping across the tall brown grasses as they reached a river as the sunlight began fading.

Thorin nearly fell from his pony as the group began setting up camp, muttering curses under his breath as his leg nearly gave out under him and he fought with the multiple blankets around his shoulders. Fili busied himself with watering the ponies while Tauriel started a small fire – Kili dashed off to go hunting, and Gandalf forced Thorin to sit as Bilbo began unloading the packs. The hobbit peered over Gandalf's shoulder once finished, anxiety spiking as Thorin growled and clumsily pushed away at Gandalf's prodding. The wizard frowned and hastily removed the bandage, revealing the angry gash. The surrounding flesh was swollen and red, and the wound was still sluggishly leaking pus and blood, rather than forming a healthy scab. Fili appeared at the hobbit's elbow, a damp cloth in hand as Gandalf strode away. Bilbo followed a moment later, chewing his lip in thought.

"He's losing blood." Bilbo murmured, stepping up beside the wizard.  
"I had hoped to reach Siryamen before the infection set in, but it is still a day's ride from here."  
"There was orc blood on the blade when he was cut."  
"Orc blood? That may have done it, and may be why it has taken hold so quickly."  
"Can you not heal it?"  
"No, I'm afraid my skills lie in other areas. Botany was never my strong suit." The wizard grumbled, deep in thought.

Bilbo glanced over at the still figure of Thorin, whom Fili was fussing over. The hobbit pursed his mouth, thinking for a moment and tapping Sting's sheath. After a moment he stepped towards the darkness of the woods, drawing the attention of all other parties.  
"Alright, I'm off. I'll be back soon."  
"And where do you think you're going?" Gandalf demanded.  
"Thorin is obviously not well – I'm going to search for some herb or plant that might help."  
"Bilbo Baggins, of all the absurd-"  
"Remember what I told you the other night Gandalf?" Bilbo interrupted kindly, growing impatient as the evening crept forward, "This is what I meant by _doing_ something, while I can."  
Gandalf frowned, and several times opened his mouth to speak although no words came.  
"You can't just wander the woods alone!" Fili protested.  
"He won't be alone." Tauriel replied, stepping around the fire to stand beside Bilbo. Gandalf frowned, but his eyes softened at the hobbit's determined stare.  
"You have two hours."

* * *

The pair returned in half that time, Bilbo's arms full of snowy brown stems as he proudly strode into the campsite beside Tauriel. Gandalf nearly choked on his pipe at the sight, raising his bushy eyebrows in silent surprise. Fili and Kili sat by the fire preparing Kili's edible finds, while Thorin was bundled up nearby, looking as ill-tempered as ever beneath half a dozen blankets. Snow had begun to fall in fat, thick flakes, resting like stars in Kili and Thorin's dark hair before they melted in the fire's heat. Bilbo and Tauriel brushed off their own dusting of silver as they sat near the fire. Bilbo grinned as he showed his armful of plants off to Gandalf.

"Look what we found!"  
"Yarrow? So late in the season?" the wizard asked, plucking at one of the leaves. Bilbo grinned and set the bundle on the ground, scooting over to the glowering Thorin.  
"We were surprised too! Come on Thorin, let's have a look."  
"…I'm not a babe to be mothered."  
Bilbo frowned at the stubborn dwarf. Thorin returned the unhappy stare from the corner of his eye, still facing the fire. A moment later he shifted, sticking his injured leg out from the multitude of blankets.  
"What's yarrow?" Fili asked, coming to sit beside Bilbo as the hobbit got to work.  
"It's a plant that help fight infections and slows bleeding. It normally blooms in summer – many of the homes in Hobbiton have yarrow in their gardens."  
"If it's a summer plant, how'd you find it?"  
"Ah, well, I could tell you, but your uncle won't like it, I'm afraid." Bilbo replied lightly, tossing the old bandage into the fire. Picking up one of the stalks beside him, he could nearly feel Fili and Kili's childlike mischief grow.  
"Well now we've got to know!" Kili laughed, leaning back and grinning up at Tauriel.  
"Oh no, the story is not mine to tell." She replied with mock gravity.  
"Well, Bilbo?" Fili asked, and Bilbo could hardly resist the pair of eager gazes.

Despite the threatening glower beside him, Bilbo began recalling their expedition as he ground up the plant between his palms. He and Tauriel had ventured off into the unknown woods, which were undoubtedly crawling with hidden beasts and dangers just waiting for the cover of night to strike. Bravely they had ventured on, searching high and low for a possible substance that might help their wounded companion. With Tauriel as the guide, they had followed the river south through the thick forest so that they might not be lost, and were close to giving up hope when lo! Through the trees bounded a stag as white as the falling snow, regal and grave as it paused to survey the travelers.

Fili and Kili were in rapture at the story, pouting as Bilbo paused to apply the yarrow pulp to Thorin's cleaned wound with deft fingers. Even Gandalf and Thorin seemed pulled into Bilbo's story, so after a dramatic breath he returned to the tale.

Now this stag was no ordinary beast – it was the very same creature that Thorin and Bilbo had spied through the sickness of Mirkwood, and Tauriel had whispered to him that these deer were rumored to have fairy blood in them, and they were prized very highly in the Woodland Realm. The stag surveyed them calmly for a moment, then bellowed and dashed back off into the cover of trees. Tauriel and Bilbo gave swift pursuit (as swift as the little hobbit could manage through the dense underbrush) and were led to a peaceful little glen on the river's edge, where flowers bloomed as if it were nearly autumn, not the cold days of winter. There, as the stag bounded off, Bilbo spied a clump of tall yarrow sprigs – the very same that he carried back to the campsite.

"…and thus ends our forest quest." Bilbo finished, tying a final knot in Thorin's bandage with a satisfied grin. Fili and Kili stared at the hobbit in awe as quiet filled the campsite. Tauriel smiled at the dramatic telling of the tale – it was much more exciting than the actual event had been, but Bilbo wove the words skillfully enough to make it seem like the sort of grand adventure to be found in storybooks. Fili was the first to break the silence.

"Hold on, why did you say Thorin wouldn't like it?"  
"The white stag is said to be a projection of the Woodland King." Tauriel replied.  
"Sounds like you might be in Thranduil's debt, uncle!" Kili chuckled.

Thorin merely growled some muffled dwarvish curse and pulled his leg back into his bundle of blankets. Bilbo couldn't help but laugh as well, and soon the whole campsite was chuckling for the first time in several days. Thorin endured the mirth for a few scant moments, then barked at Kili to get the food cooking or he would string the young dwarf up over the fire instead. The archer hastily obliged, drawing even more laughter from the merry little group as the shroud of night fell full and fast around the world.


	14. Lord of Siryamen

A/N: Brand new contents ahead! I'll be out of town for a few days, but I'll try to check in if anyone has questions or feedback. Cheers!  
(A tip: Siryamen is pronounced SEER-yah-men. Enjoy!)

* * *

The next morning dawned bright and clear, all traces of cloud gone from the lightening sky. The campsite was covered in a scant inch of fluffy snow, save the ring around the fire pit, and the little troupe fell easily into the respective habits for taking down the camp. Much to the delight of the travelers, Bilbo's yarrow had done the trick - Thorin's fever had broken during the night, and the wound looked healthier than expected. Thorin quietly handed back each of the borrowed blankets, and soon the little group was back on the frosty road and by mid-afternoon they finally drew near to the city of Siryamen.

The city, built in the ruins of the second-age town of Framsburg, was developed in such a way that the Rivers Greyling and Langwell formed two of the city limits – only one great bridge on either side connected the city to the opposite banks. As they drew closer, Bilbo found himself likening the city to a wedge of cake or cheese – the bottom story was constructed of mossy grey cobblestones, and the three (or sometimes four) stories above were made of spindly painted wood, ending it spires and weathervanes. A stone watchtower was located at the southernmost tip of the city, and the cramped buildings faded into farmland in the north.

Before the group made to cross the eastern bridge and enter the city, Gandalf dismounted and gathered the company close.  
"Now, this town, while not entire dangerous, is highly supersticious and rather shut off from the rest of the world. The realm of Neleduin is ruled by four lordships, and it would be unwise to upset any of them whilst we are here." Gandalf stated, glancing over at the brightly colored town. "All of you, dismount. If we're to trade these ponies, they'll need to be in prime condition. Follow my lead, and keep your noses out of trouble."  
Each of the company quickly dismounted, pulling their packs around their shoulders rather than buckled to the ponies' saddles while Gandalf's horse, whom he had mentioned in passing to be one of the fabled Mearas, pranced off with a playful snort. Ten minutes later, the six companions and five steeds arrived banks of the dancing Greylin.

The bridge was wide enough for four carts to pass side by side, with ample room to spare, closed off by a great wrought-iron gate held by four uniformed guards. Dressed in well-used and well-loved mail under blue and grey uniforms, they each gripped a long, lethal spear and had a simple shield strapped to their back. They chatted easily with each other, as there was no traffic save the company, but quickly fell into place as Gandalf approached with a friendly smile and bow.

"Halt, if you please. Name and business, and length of intended stay." One of the guards said, not unkind but by no means friendly.  
"Ah, my name is Gandalf the Grey. My associates are Mr. Baggins, a hobbit, the lady Tauriel of Mirkwood, and three dwarves of the, eh, Broadbeam clan. We seek to trade, and only dwell in the city two days."  
"Do you have a trade license?"  
"A license? Oh, no, I'm afraid not. But my good friend Gwaeleth is licensed, and I'm sure-"  
"You are known to the Lord Gwaeleth?" The guard appeared shocked, and rather unsure of how to proceed. Gandalf looked surprised as well.  
"Lord? Goodness me, that's a new development. But in answer to your question, I do indeed know Gwaeleth – I have for many years now."

That seemed to be the right thing to say, for the gate was opened without delay and one of the guards was assigned as a personal escort to the company. When pinned under five curious looks, the wizard only huffed and happily followed the guard across the bridge towards the city.

The main street was cobbled and nearly as wide as the bridge, making navigation easy despite the buzzing crowd. The bottom level of buildings were all stores displaying great bolts of cotton, silk, and beaded oddities, bought and sold by solid, strong men and women robed in multiple layers of fine jewel-toned fabrics. Thick beams of colored light splashed down between the several-storied structures, tinted by wide swaths of dyed gauze that hung over the street, strung up between the asymmetrical architecture of the spired wooden residential levels. Tiny balconies and bits of drying laundry dangled precariously in the open air, painted in vibrant colors – the swooping structures ended in a delicate turret on each corner.

The company was led to the far west side of the town, past numerous tiny alleyways and tunnel paths that branched out into the rest of the city. The western gate and bridge were looming close when the guard took them down a small south-bound road that ran parallel to the river Langwell – the road ended in a stone cul-de-sac, in the center of which a knobby oak tree grew under beams of purple-tinted light. The entire western side of the cul-de-sac was a single wealthy house – the standard stone ground level was topped by three stories of graceful blue and white woodwork, and a slender banner bearing a seagull hung down the center. The guard knocked, the door opened, and the company was ushered inside as a footman took their ponies.

"Gandalf the Grey? Here? Why on earth…" a woman's voice echoed off the pleasantly furnished foyer, coming from some distant hallway. The opposite wall was one large window, showing the gently burbling Langwell and the sharp peaks of the Misty Mountains beyond.  
"Go and fetch my lord, he'll want to speak with him. And the children! It's about time they met him." The woman's voice continued, drawing closer until a woman, robed in plush layers of blue and white, swept into the room.  
"My dear Gwaeleth, what a delight to see you!" Gandalf stated, stepping forward to embrace the smiling woman. Her silvery blonde hair was swept back into a wispy bun at the back of her neck, and a handful of silver adornments winked from her ears and hands.  
"Gandalf, what a surprise! It has been too long!" Gwaeleth replied, pulling away from the wizard to take in the sight of the other five travelers.  
"I'm just as surprised as you – a lord? When did that happen?" Gandalf replied, eyes twinkling.  
"Nearly three months ago – the last Lord of Water died during an orc raid. Apparently the whole town saw me behead the orc captain, and a week later I was sworn in. Ha!"  
"An orc raid?" Gandalf suddenly turned serious, "Are those common here?"  
"No, not anymore, thank goodness—oh, here's the rest of the household!"

In came one of the burliest men (excepting Beorn) that Bilbo had ever seen. Dressed in deep gray and green clothes, his curly auburn hair was loosely tied at the back of his neck and a bristling beard covered most of his face. Two sets of twins followed – a boy and a girl around the age of twelve, and two boys that couldn't be older than six or seven years of age. Three had the same shimmering blonde hair as their mother, but one of the younger boys had a shock of bright red curls, no doubt taking after his father. Merry introductions were made, and the company was relieved of their packs and begged to stay the night – the offer was graciously accepted, and they were soon swept off to supper.


	15. Children and Pilgrims

A/N: Happy Monday to you all! As always, don't hesitate to submit questions, concerns, etc - I always look forward to reading feedback that can help me improve your reading experience :) Cheers!

* * *

Bilbo couldn't remember the last time he had sat down to such a perfect meal. The meat was perfect, the wine was perfect, the pies were perfect…even Thorin's nephews were on their best behavior as they entertained the children with tales and songs while their parents chatted with Gandalf. Thorin occasionally added a word, but seemed content to watch his animated nephews once the post-supper prayer had been said and the dishes cleared away. Fili and Kili were re-enacting the escape from Thranduil's halls with vivacity and excitement, easily holding the four children's attention. Bilbo, sandwiched between Thorin and Tauriel, was often called upon to add or validate some detail for enhanced dramatic effect.

With the children thoroughly engrossed, Gwaeleth and Ruinor suggested the 'adults' adjourn into another room – only Thorin, Gandalf, and Bilbo joined them, leaving Tauriel to supervise. As they shuffled out, Kili pretended (much to the shock of the younger set of twins) to be shot in the leg, collapsing to the wooden floor with an anguished cry. Tauriel dramatically swept to the swooning Kili's rescue, pretending to attack Fili as he growled and tramped around the open room like an orc. He startled a pair of young kitchen maids as he fell to the floor at Tauriel's swift blade, and sent them into a giggling and blushing frenzy when he flashed them a beaming smile from the polished wood floor. They scampered off, and the battle was in full swing once more.

Before he left, Ruinor placed a large hand on his daughter's golden head with a tender smile.  
"Be good, Merilin." He rumbled.  
"Yes, Ada." She replied softly, trying (and failing) to be disinterested in the dwarves' tales.  
"And you, Emlin."  
The elder blond boy nodded mutely, unable to tear his eyes from the scene before him as Ruinor silently left the room.

Meanwhile, Gandalf, Thorin, and Bilbo were led by Gwaeleth to a nearby sitting room. Another window looked out over the river and mountains, where evening was falling thick and swift. Ruinor followed a moment later, joining his lithe wife on one plush sofa while the visiting trio sat in chairs opposite them.  
"Your sons are fine boys, Master Dwarf." Gwaeleth smiled, settling under Ruinor's arm.  
"They are my nephews, my sister's sons," Thorin replied, "I could not be more proud of them."  
"Even our somber Merilin was paying attention." Ruinor rumbled, and Gwaeleth beamed happily.  
"You must stay out the week, my friend. Your ponies will be taken care of, and you'll stay here, of course—"  
"We cannot afford so much time." Thorin interrupted, pointedly ignoring Bilbo's irritated glance.  
"Why ever not? If you don't mind me asking."  
"We, well, we're on a bit of a pilgrimage, my friend," Gandalf supplied – Gwaeleth looked unruffled but curious, leaning forward as the wizard spoke. "Our final destination is, ehm, Eriador. Mr. Baggins is on his way home, then we continue to Ered Luin – the home of our Broadbeam friends."  
"Whatever for? That is no short journey, and the road is said to be crawling with goblins and worse."  
"It is dwarf business." Thorin rumbled, making Gwaeleth raise an eyebrow.  
"And yet you bring a wizard, a hobbit, and even a woodland elf on the journey?" Thorin visibly bristled at her words, but Gwaeleth remained calm and collected. "I do not seek to anger or obstruct you, Master Dwarf, only to understand."  
"Tauriel, our elf companion, is visiting my home in the Shire." Bilbo stated, drawing his hosts' attention.  
"You are very well travelled for a hobbit." Ruinor rumbled.  
"A hobbit is not the only thing I am." Bilbo smiled, and was relieved when it was slowly returned buy the stoic figure before him.  
"A friendship with Gandalf the Grey will do that."  
"I'm surprised at you Gandalf, dragging gentle folk across the wild places of the world." Gwaeleth chided. "To think, he might have been eaten by trolls, or lost in a mountain cavern somewhere! Smaug the Terrible might have roasted him alive!"  
"Smaug is dead." Thorin stated, coolly meeting Gwaeleth's stunned gaze.  
"The Worm of Dread? Defeated?" Ruinor asked, and Thorin nodded once.  
"Aye, shot down by a Laketown bowman." Thorin replied evenly, keeping his voice a careful neutral.  
"Armies of men and elves assisted in securing the mountain, and have made peace with the dwarves who now live there." Bilbo added, ignoring Thorin's mutter of disapproval.  
"By the stars…Is that why you are journeying west? To inform your kin?" Gwaeleth asked.  
"Many of them lived in the mountain before Smaug came, and have the right to live there now."  
"It was Dain Ironfoot whom recommended the journey – he has the makings of a very fine king." Gandalf said.  
"Dain is now Erebor's king? Why not Thror's son Thrain? He has more right than Dain, at least."  
"I'm afraid Thrain died, some time ago." Gandalf replied.  
"Then surely his son Thorin still lives to rule?" Gwaeleth mused.  
"Thorin died." Thorin growled shortly, ignoring Bilbo's thinly-veiled shock. "He brought only ruin and grief unto himself and his house, and would have done the same for Erebor had he lived."  
"You speak as if you knew him." Ruinor said quietly.  
"I did, once, until his mind fled and he threatened friend and kin. It is a good thing that the Lonely Mountain is not ruled by him today."

* * *

Later than night, once the children and a weary Bilbo had been shown to bed, Thorin found his way to a little balcony overhanging the bubbling river below. Starlight mingled with the first hazy moonbeams, reflecting off the pebbled riverbed and illuminating the mountains in the distance. At Gwaeleth's insistence he had agreed to spend three nights in her house, but was adamant that they could spare no more time in idleness. Roäc was his only companion in this quiet moment, quietly perched on his shoulder. The bird had seemed quite proud when he had found his dwarf, croaking and preening the dwarf's unruly hair – surrounded by his own shadowy thought, Thorin hadn't the heart to shoo him away.

Thorin didn't notice Ruinor until he was standing beside him, silent in the moonlight. Seeing the dwarf tense in surprise, the burly redhead offered a slow smile.  
"Peace, Master Dwarf. You have no enemies here."  
"One can never be too careful." Thorin muttered.  
"You have a great number of adversaries?"  
Thorin was silent, absently petting Roäc's beak. Ruinor let the silence linger, closely examining the silent dwarf, and smiled as Roäc croaked happily from Thorin's shoulder.  
"You are fortunate to be loved by a bird." Ruinor ventured, eyeing the sleepy raven.  
"You speak from experience?"  
"I was a woodsman, once upon a time, traveling along the roots of the Misty Mountains." Ruinor leaned against the balcony railing, staring at the distant range. "Many beasts in the wild can be tamed and taught to love or obey. Bird kind is different; they have an instinctive knowledge of a person, and can somehow see into their heart of hearts. I have heard that birds are treasured by the dwarves of Erebor."  
"Aye, that is common knowledge." Thorin replied evenly as Roäc pecked at his ring.  
"I remember my mother would tell me stories of ravens being used as messengers for the King Under the Mountain." Thorin stilled at that, feeling unease settle in his stomach as Ruinor continued. "I wonder why Dain is sending you to Ered Luin rather than a royal raven?"  
"Perhaps you should ask him." Thorin ground out.  
"Or perhaps Dain is not truly King."

Thorin finally looked up at the burly man beside him. Ruinor was utterly calm, looking out over the moonlit landscape. He glanced down at Thorin, well aware of the defensive cloud gathering behind his eyes. He held up his hands in surrender, and was relieved to see the dwarf before him relax slightly.  
"You have friends here, Thorin Oakenshield."  
"I am not him." Thorin growled darkly.  
"Are you sure?"  
"Thorin Oakenshield was loyal, honorable, and just. I am not him."  
"Perhaps not today, or tomorrow, but someday I think you will be. And when that day comes I will be glad of your coming, as will many others around Middle Earth." Ruinor mused. "Until that day dawns, my family and I will do all we can to help you and yours. I cannot vouch for your safety outside of my home, but here you have our full protection."  
Thorin nodded once, unsure of what to say after such a declaration. Ruinor nodded back, sensing that the dwarf would say no more, and quietly left the balcony, leaving Thorin to brood in the deepening stillness of the night.


	16. Two and Twelve

A/N: TGIF! Thank you all for your excellent feedback last chapter - I always look forward to hearing what you guys think :)

* * *

The world was burning.  
Flames licked across grassy hills, felling trees with great crashes as people screamed and shouted in the distance. Bilbo ran haphazardly down a path, walled in by smoke and trailed by sparks, stumbling about in blind fear. He was choking, sweating, crying – he could barely see where he was going until he rounded a bend and skidded to a full, terrified, stop.

Before him were the hills of Hobbiton, crowned in great towers of fire and soot. Ash fell like snow, and the lake was thick with debris and branches. The party tree was no more than a blackened stump in the distance, and Bilbo started running again when he spied Bag End. He was instantly at the burning green door, hissing as the brass knob burned when he pushed open the door. Broken glass and charred papers littered the burning hallways, and the walls were blackened with smoke. He scrambled down one of the hallways, not even sure what he was looking for, and tumbled to the floor of his study.

Two shimmering figures stood there, seeming to draw in smoke and flame like a void, shining with harsh white light. Bilbo stared at them, too shocked and frightened to speak. Eventually one of the stepped towards him with an outstretched hand. At first, Bilbo thought it meant to help him to his feet, but something in the back of his mind urged him to back away. He pushed himself to his feet as his terror reached a boiling point and reached into his pocket, desperately jamming the ring onto his finger-

Bilbo awoke with a jolt, trapped in sweaty sheets and nearly blinded by sunlight pouring in from the windows. He frantically pulled the sheets off, panting as he sat up in the large bed and the terror of the dream slowly faded. He looked up at the wall opposite his bed and relaxed – the two thin windows must have been the figures, and the sheets no doubt had heated him up more than he was used to after weeks on the road. After a moment of quiet, he slid out of bed and padded over to one of the windows, still shaken by the vivid dream. On a chair to his right a tray had been set up bearing breakfast – three raisin rolls, a chunk of soft cheese, and a few slices of bacon – and a note from Gandalf. He had taken Thorin and Kili to select river boats for their travel and Tauriel had gone with Fili to trade the ponies at market, leaving Bilbo with a gloriously empty schedule until supper (which he was under _no_ _circumstances_ to miss).

It was almost midday when Bilbo finally wandered through the doors of his destination. The silver-domed structure, colloquially called "The White Hall of Hope", was the jewel of Siryamen's thriving spiritual district. Constructed out of white marble, silver leaf, and sprinkled with pearls, the round gleaming temple spanned an entire city block but was nearly deserted.

The dome was topped with a round opening, flooding the fair hall with clear sunbeams that bounced off the dark wooden floor and stately fire burned in the center of the room, set in a deep pit and surrounded by a twining wrought iron fence. The twelve Valar figures rimmed the round hall, reaching nearly twenty feet each and decorated with care and precision. Great eagles were carved into the sweeping lines of Manwë's robes, and a mosaic of Ulmo was veiled by a delicate waterfall that splashed into a pool decorated with a likeness representing Ossë. Bilbo wandered across the deserted hall towards the statue of Yavanna, clothed in a dress of moss and guarded by two carven trees. Beside her was Aulë, the smith, encrusted with a tunic of jewels and griping twin hammers of gold.

Before the great smith sat Fili, to Bilbo's great surprise. Cross-legged and silent, the blond dwarf sat with head bowed in the warm light of the sun, unaware that he and Bilbo were the sole inhibitors of the great space. He looked up at the soft scuff of Bilbo's feet, surprise written on his face as the hobbit walked to the feet of Yavanna's likeness. Bilbo gave a short wave in reply to Fili's confused grin, and the two let the silence continue.

Taking a bundle of herbs from his pocket, Bilbo carefully held them over a candle at Yavanna's feet until they were smoldering. He set the bundle on her alter as the scented smoke curled around him, pale tendrils trailing after him as he stepped back and sat on the floor before her. He pursed his lips as he drank in the glorious sight of the Vala before him, contemplating what to do next. Her carven face was lit with a generous smile, glancing towards the statue of Aulë beside her. Her bare feet were wreathed in tiny flowers, sprinkled about like dewdrops and adorning folds of her mossy robe like gems. In all ways she seemed welcoming, and ready to hear whatever the little hobbit might have to say.

"_Where do I begin?" _Bilbo thought_, "I've never really prayed before, not properly anyway. Not in the way that those who live here do. Should I pray for myself? For my friends? My hosts? I suppose all three, since this is just between you and me." _He wriggled his nose as he mused, almost as if speaking to Yavanna through his thought._ "May you help Kili learn patience. He'll need it, I think, both on this journey and in the future. May you help Fili learn confidence – he's the one sitting over there – so that he might make a great king someday. He's already part of the way there, just needs a little push." _He lightly nodded to the side, as if to point Yavanna's statue towards the young dwarf. _"May you…help Tauriel find her purpose in this world. Now that she is beyond the forest, I fear she doesn't know what to do with herself. Maybe you can help Gandalf realize that not _everything_ has to be done by him."_ Bilbo snorted to himself, but quickly turned it into a cough as the noise echoed around the room. "_Thorin…help him to know that he is not alone, I suppose. Help him know that there are those who would see him achieve great things."_

The bundle of herbs Bilbo had lit was nearly burned out, sending up thick threads of white smoke from a pile of silvery ashes. Yavanna still smiled down at the little hobbit, her face free of promise through the haze. Bilbo sighed and frowned, preparing to get stand and leave, until Fili quietly dropped to sit next to him. The hobbit settled back down, turning to face the blond dwarf beside him.

"I thought you were trading ponies with Tauriel?"  
"We got plenty of coin for them because we were there early. She's quite formidable when challenged, I can see why Kili is so smitten." Fili laughed quietly.  
"She is remarkable, isn't she? She was a real friend to me after…" Bilbo abruptly paused, feeling a lingering tightness wrap around his chest. "After the battle."  
"Ah. You know I've never properly thanked you. I don't think 'thank you very much Master Burglar' even _begins_ to cover what you've done for my brother and uncle, although you are now at risk."  
"Really, even if I _had_ known the consequences beforehand, do you think I wouldn't have done it?" Bilbo asked. "I would have done far _more,_ even if the results had been far _less_."  
"Do you enjoy having us in your debt, Master Burglar?" Fili smiled, rising to his feet.  
"Well at the very least it gives me some leverage over your uncle's foul moods, should I ever need it." Bilbo replied easily, standing and stretching languidly. He motioned towards the exit and Fili nodded, striding off beside Bilbo.  
"Care for a bite to eat? I took a few coins for lunch of you're hungry." Fili offered, digging around in a pocket.  
"Hobbits are always hungry, you should know by now! No respectable hobbit turns down food." Bilbo scolded, pausing to absorb some warmth from the fire pit. "There was a stall selling hand-pies on the next block…"  
"Say no more, Master Hobbit. Pies it is!"

Bilbo opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by something solid colliding with the side of his head, _hard_. He dimly saw Fili's shock as he swayed, hearing muffled shouting as if underwater as the wooden floor seemed to rise up to meet him as he crumpled at someone's feet. '_I don't know these boots_…' Bilbo mused as sun and firelight faded. He tried to focus on Fili, tried to call out when a figure stepped behind the dwarf with a sack raised above his head, tried to cry for help, but the last thing he saw was Yavanna's statue, all the more terrifying as shadows closed in around him.

* * *

A/N: I'm afraid this will be the last chapter for a few weeks - I'll be travelling between March 23rd and April 12th, and won't have guaranteed access to wifi. I'd rather have a set date of return than give you all false hope. There will still be an update on Monday, although it will be a little different than a new chapter ;) Cheers!


	17. The Pit

A/N: And we're back! Apologies for the long wait - hopefully this chapter makes up for three weeks away!  
Also - the winners of the giveaway have been contacted! Once I get a confirmation from both I will announce them :) Thank you to everyone who reads, likes, favorites, and reviews! Your feedback is what helps make this story into something better than I could have made on my own. Cheers!

* * *

The first thing Bilbo felt was warmth – sticky and cloying – as he slowly returned to consciousness. He didn't dare move, not even to open his eyes, content to simply sigh as memories came sifting back into his head. There was Yavanna, and Fili, and the wooden floor, a flare of pain, hazy sounds of a struggle, then nothing. Feeling began returning to his limbs, and he was suddenly aware of his throbbing head and gagged mouth as he cracked one eye open. A bleeding cut somewhere under his hair seemed to be the source of the warmth, although his hands were bound behind his back, making it impossible to check how bad said cut was.

He blinked slowly as his eyes adjusted to the dark surroundings, noting the absence of guard in the tiny room. The space was barely a large closet, empty of everything except a lantern hanging from the ceiling. He slowly, _slowly_ pushed himself up, relieved to see the breathing shape of Fili beside him in the gloom. The dwarf's hands were bound as well, but otherwise he looked relatively unharmed. Bilbo cautiously nudged him with a foot, and after a few prods the prince blearily woke up. Within a moment he was on alert, bolt upright and scanning his surroundings.

"Bilbo? That's you, isn't it? You look awful, are you alright?"  
"As far as I can tell, nothing serious. You're not injured anywhere?"  
"My arm's a bit sore, but nothing broken."  
"I should really stop getting hit on the head – it never seems to end well. Any idea where we are?"  
"None." Fili replied, leaning back against the wooden wall behind him.  
"I can't hear much city noise, so we're either outside of town or its night."  
"Hold on, there's a crack over here…" Fili wriggled around for a moment and pressed his face up against the wall. "I can see stars, so it's night, I can't see if there's a road. See anything through the door frame?"  
"There's…a hallway, and a door at the end. I think I hear singing? Nope, just talking."  
"Can't say I'm impressed with these ropes…"  
"They must have taken Sting – I'll have to get that back."  
"Sting?"  
"My sword."  
"You finally named you little butter knife?" Fili asked, and Bilbo didn't need to look at him to know he was grinning.  
"Back in Mirkwood – and I'll have you know that _little butter knife_ has saved your skin multiple times. If I had it now I could slice through these unimpressive ropes and save it again."  
"Left boot, inside of my ankle."  
"My left?"  
"No, mine. I've got a knife in there somewhere."

After some quiet squirming around, Bilbo managed to extract the blade and shove it across the floor, where Fili's hands swept it up and furiously began sawing away at his bonds. Outside the closet Bilbo heard a set of footsteps approaching, feeling his heart rate quicken as he pressed an eye to the crack in the doorframe. The footsteps finally drew up to the door, and both captives held their breath. Fili hastily shoved the knife up his sleeve just as the door swung open, nearly catching Bilbo's shoulder as the smell of charcoal and sweat rolled into the room. Their visitor was tall and lanky, hooded and cloaked perfectly anonymous as all proper kidnappers should be. Without a word they hauled Fili up from the floor with one hand and Bilbo with the other – both captives protested to the best of their abilities, but were dragged away nonetheless.

They were led through winding wooden hallways, down a rickety staircase, and finally locked in a long room lined on two sides with benches and ending in a heavy iron grid. Bilbo's mouth went dry as he and Fili stared through their prison and out into a wide sandy pit beyond – nearly thirty feet across, jeering rows of rowdy men and women sat on raised platforms, bathed in the harsh glow of torches as they shouted and tossed coins and purses over each other's heads. Across the pit was another iron gate, and Bilbo balked as he spied a shadow moving behind it.

"Hurry, finish your bonds!" Bilbo hissed as the noises of the crowd swelled. "They mean to pit us against whatever is behind that gate."  
"You have a plan?" Fili asked as he sawed away with his smuggled knife.  
"These gates will probably open – when it does, you take that knife and run through to the other side, there might be a way out."  
"Without you? You can't be serious!" the dwarf protested, finally breaking his wrists free. He reached for Bilbo's hands but the hobbit drew away, determination darkening his brow.  
"Trust me, I can handle myself. I'll keep them entertained while you escape. You need to find Gandalf, or Gwaeleth, plan something quiet. Don't let Thorin stupidly storm a hundred armed Men." Bilbo smirked, and Fili nodded his understanding.

A drumbeat started somewhere in the stands, a steady pounding that picked up pace and volume fairly quickly as onlookers used their hands and feet to add to the noise. As the beat sped up and reached a deafening level, the iron gates cranked open slowly to let the contenders into the sandy pit. The crowd roared as Bilbo cautiously stepped out into the sand, subtly sending a look back at Fili that told him to wait. From the other end of the pit a shrieking orc scrambled out, sending the crowd into a frenzy. To Bilbo's relief the gates _did_ stay open, although that relief was short lived as the orc spotted him and charged. In a moment Bilbo was dodging the orc's desperate swipes, quickly backed up against the wall. From the corner of his eye he spied Fili creeping out of the shadows, and with a vigorous nod Bilbo signaled him to run.

Fili bolted across the sandy space, sprinting across the pit with surprising grace and speed. Bilbo made every effort to keep the orc's attention, but the screaming crowd signaled the dwarf's flight, and the hobbit was unceremoniously shoved to the side as the orc chose a new target. As Fili dashed across the open space the gates creaked and started clanking closed. He glanced between the oncoming orc and the lessening change of escape, unsure of which to pursue, until Bilbo leapt onto the orc's back, cutting of its air supply with his bound wrists.

"Go! Now!" Bilbo shouted over the uproar in the stands, and Fili was once again off. He managed to slip through the gate as it clanged shut, much to the dislike of the angry people in the stands, but their anger was quickly placated as Bilbo once again became the orc's target. Bilbo did his best to dodge the orc's claws, and the orc resorted to throwing the hobbit across the pit – more than once Bilbo was knocked against the wall, but was able to stumble upright and keep the crown entertained. For nearly twenty minutes this worked, until the orc began to grow bored with his slippery prey. Bilbo smiled through his cuts and bruises…but felt his blood run cold when someone tossed a knife into the ring.

He and the orc locked eyes for a moment, then both leapt for the weapon. The orc was faster – the crowd roared as Bilbo stumbled back, facing down a now-armed enemy. The orc leapt forward with new ferocity, brandishing the glinting blade. Bilbo continued to scuttle around, but slipped on the loose floor as the orc once more dove towards him. As the blade swung towards his head, Bilbo instinctively whipped his bound hands up – the knife cut cleanly through the worn rope, throwing off the orc's aim and missing anything vital. Bilbo was instantly on his feet, scrambling away from the frustrated orc, his head beginning to ring from the hooting shouts of the crowd. With trembling hands he tied his coat tighter and spread his feet defensively – something he had picked up after travelling with a dozen warriors – and motioned for the orc to approach with a hard grimace.

"Alright, orc. Let's give them a show."


	18. Sand and Ribs

A/N: TGIF! Thank you to all those who have read this far - I hope you are enjoying reading this story as much as I am writing it! And congratulations to hollyhobbit101 and Celebrisilweth for winning the character raffle! I may do something similar for the 50th favorite, so keep your eyes open if that interests you ;) As always I look forward to your feedback. Cheers!

* * *

Bilbo had never hated sand more that this particular moment. While he swerved and ducked for his life surrounded by jeering Men, the tiny grains had ended up in his hair, under his shirt, and into the places his skin was raw and broken. His adversary the orc proved to have excellent stamina – Bilbo assumed it was the result of many pit-fights such as this. Nearly half an hour had passed since Fili had made a dash for freedom, and Bilbo could only hope that he had managed to find a way out to safety. As he continued to evade the swipes of the shrieking orc, the onlookers grew more and more restless – it was clear that they wanted more blood than what was currently being spilled by the orc's occasional hit. Bilbo's forearms and one of his cheeks had a sprinkling of small gashes, but nothing substantial enough to quench the crowd's bloodthirst.

Suddenly someone screamed in the stands, sending the rest of the onlookers into a frenzy. Even Bilbo and the orc glanced up at the scrambling men and women, their struggle temporarily forgotten as their audience fled. Armed city guards flowed in after them, herding the shouting crowd out of the stands, followed by an armored and fearsome Gwaeleth. Gandalf and Thorin joined her – armed but neither wearing the silver plate armor that Gwaeleth and her guards were sporting. Thorin was the first to spot Bilbo in the ring, immediately dropping his grimace as he clambered down to the lowest level of seating.

"Bilbo! You're still alive!"  
"As far as I can tell. What about Fili?"  
"Aye, he nearly scared our hosts to their graves, though. He'll live, stop worrying." Thorin replied, feeling a wide grin crawl across his face.  
"Not on your life." Bilbo beamed back up, still out of breath from his recent fight and content to revel in the sight of his rescue. Gwaeleth joined Thorin a moment later, smiling as well.  
"Not just a hobbit, indeed! Thank the stars you're alright."  
"Thank Fili, more like, and anyone who throws down a rope to get me out." Bilbo replied good-naturedly as he strode across the ring towards his friends. Gwaeleth swept off as Gandalf spoke to one of the guards about possibly finding a ladder, and Thorin couldn't help but grin down at the little hobbit. There he was, littered with cuts and bruises, asking after Fili as if he wasn't half covered in sand and his own blood. Relief quickly turned sour as Thorin realized that Bilbo wasn't alone in the pit - an orc slunk around the edge of the ring, a dagger gripped in its claws as it approached Bilbo from behind.  
"Behind you!" Thorin bellowed, feeling his blood chill as Bilbo glanced around in surprise.

Bilbo turned his head around to come eye-to-eye with the orc. As it collided with him he stumbled, and everything happened in the span of a breath; his forehead cracked against the wall, he could hear Thorin shouting something, and something struck the back of his ribs. He felt the air leave his lungs as his vision flickered, a sign of imminent unconsciousness that he was becoming uncomfortably used to. He slowly peered over his shoulder to see the orc fall to pieces at Thorin's sword, gurgling in its own blood. Bilbo sway and groped along the wall with unresponsive fingers for a handhold as he felt himself crumple to the sandy floor. Murky shapes and points of light swam before his eyes, hovering over him until one by one they flickered out.

* * *

It was the birdsong that first woke Bilbo. Soft and lilting, much like the plucking of a fair harp, it drew him slowly to the waking world. White light filtered through his closed eyelids, and he was suddenly aware of an enormous amount of pain coming from his back. He groaned and winced, feeling a burst of fire from his ribs as he adjusted slightly on the soft bed beneath him, and after a moment decided to crack one eye open.

He was back in his bedroom as Gwaeleth's house, tucked into the large bed. The curtains on the opposite wall were thrown open, revealing the light grey sky beyond, and to his right sat none other than Thorin, staring at the stirring hobbit. Bilbo stared right back with his open eye, more surprised by the book in the dwarf's lap than anything else.

"You're awake?" Thorin whispered, closing the book with a soft snap.  
"Ugh, yes. Unfortunately." Bilbo croaked in reply.  
"I think you are quite fortunate, Master Burglar."  
"Just in my choice of clothing."

Thorin hummed softly, glancing across the bed. Curious, Bilbo pried his other eye open and followed his friend's gaze; to the left his mithril shirt was draped over the room's plush armchair, glinting in the pale daylight. Bilbo couldn't help but smile to himself – Roäc was tucked in the middle of the fine silvery rings, sleeping contentedly in the midst of the finery with a handful of songbirds scattered over the chair's arms and peeping softly to one another. Several fluttered over, singing all the while, and settled on the covers over Bilbo's lap and around his hands. Several quiet minutes passed by – Bilbo spent a little time gently petting the little birds while Thorin pretended to go back to reading his book. Eventually he gave up, setting the book on a bedside table to cross his arms over his chest.

"I didn't know you kept it," he rumbled, nodding to Roäc's mithril nest.  
"Why shouldn't I?" Bilbo asked genuinely. "Do you…want it back?"  
"Of course not! I just thought that after the battle, you might not want to keep it. After my actions." Thorin muttered, failing to meet Bilbo's curious eyes.  
"Don't be absurd, it is more precious than…almost anything I possess."  
"Then you are more forgiving than I."  
"Softer and more vulnerable, too. I doubt it would fit you anyway." Bilbo mused, drawing a small grin from Thorin. A handful of silent moments passed, and Bilbo decided to examine the full extent of the damage. Dull pain throbbed steadily from his ribs, as well as a spot on his browbone – the only other injuries he had sustained were small cuts along his forearms, which had been cleaned and tended. With a groan he slowly propped himself into a sitting position, careful not to disturb the birds, and returned his attention to Thorin.

"What happened exactly? You said Fili was alright…"  
"Aye, only a bruised arm to boast of. I want to thank you, for sending him, despite the risks you took."  
"Well, I had a sort of…_insurance_ that he did not." Bilbo replied with a smile.  
"True," Thorin grinned back, then turned serious once more. "And I am grateful you had it. Lord Gwaeleth informed us that one of the other city lords was running an illegal combat ring of sorts, where they would pit animals, orcs, and sometimes a captured Man or Elf, against each other. The spectators would bet on the winner, and their Lord sponsor would take a small percentage of each trade. You two were taken because they had nothing else for the orc to fight – they thought you two would draw a good crowd, and plenty of profit. Instead Gwaeleth seized the place and arrested as many as her guard could, and she is meeting with the other Lords today. You escaped with two broken ribs and a concussion."

Bilbo sat in rather shocked silence for a while. _A battle pit? Broken ribs? Well, that's why I'm so sore_, he thought dryly, absently running a hand over the bandages wrapping around his chest underneath his fresh shirt.

"And how are the others? Gandalf, Kili, Tauriel?"  
"Gandalf is right as rain – gave the criminals quite a fright when he found out what had been going on. Kili helped round up the criminals with Ruinor, no injuries."  
"And Tauriel?"  
"What about her?" Thorin grumbled, trying to maintain a stoic demeanor.  
"I want to know if she is unhurt." Bilbo frowned.  
"…Aye." Thorin replied shortly, and appeared to be biting back more words. Bilbo's frown deepened.  
"I wish you would like her." Bilbo said, and it was Thorin's turn to frown.  
"Why should I like an Elf? It was she that captured us and locked us away from our quest."  
"And it was Tauriel who saved Kili's life when you left him behind!" Bilbo replied hotly, and Thorin looked taken aback before scowling once more.  
"And why am I hearing this from you and not my nephew?"  
"Because he knows that you wouldn't believe it! Every conversation I've had with Kili over the past week has been about you and your dislike of Elves, and how he is _sure_ you don't approve of her. We've all seen how you pretend that she doesn't exist, despite the asset she has been to you and yours." Bilbo nearly spat.  
"And now I am required to worship the ground she walks on? Simply because she is _nice_?"  
"Would a little civility really hurt you so much?"  
"It has in the past, why should it not now?"  
"She is _not_ Thranduil-"  
"No, she's even worse! She was his _follower_, and our enemy!" Thorin nearly shouted, scowling as deeply as Bilbo.

Heavy silence stretched between them – even the birds refused to break it. Roäc had woken, and now hopped onto the bed and quietly hopped his way over to Bilbo's side. As the raven settled down against Bilbo's thigh, Thorin sided and stood, making for the door.

"You should rest. We have already lost two days waiting for your recovery – if you are still unwell tomorrow, it may be best that you remain here." Thorin ground out, leaving an open-mouthing Bilbo to stare after him, tucked amongst birds and creamy linen sheets to sit in thorough, infuriated silence.


	19. Skin-stars

A/N: Happy Monday! Here's a slower chapter after the last few bits of action. Don't hesitate to let me know what you guys think, as always! Cheers!

* * *

After Thorin's departure, the rest of the day passed in relative peace. Around lunchtime Fili strode in bearing a large tray, laden with plenty of food for the two of them to share. They sat on the bed and pieced together the remaining fragments of the story – Fili said that Gwaeleth believed the orc raids were somehow connected with the corrupt Lord, although there was currently no evidence to support the claim. All serious conversation was ended when Kili bounded in, followed by the four children and Tauriel. The five children (Kili included) ate the rest of the food while Tauriel and Bilbo greeted each other, relieved that both had survived the strange ordeal. Soon Bilbo was quite exhausted by the enthusiastic children, and they were eventually called away for the day's lessons. Fili and Kili soon followed, already talking about the next meal; Tauriel was the last to leave, bidding her friend a quiet farewell as he drifted into healing sleep.

* * *

Tauriel found Kili in the tiny courtyard garden, surrounded by manicured hedges and empty mulchbeds that would no doubt blossom come spring; for now they only bore frost flowers and the occasional soft snowfall. His back was to her, watching the receding form of Thorin return to the warm rooms of the house with crossed arms – a habit he had picked up from said uncle. At the sound of Tauriel's step he glanced around, beaming widely when he spotted her. She smiled softly in reply, stepping forward to take his outstretched hand and joined him in the small square of frosty grass.

"It's great to see Bilbo awake!" Kili beamed, flopping onto the ground.  
"I agree. He is much hardier than he appears." Tauriel replied, sinking to sit beside him.  
"Certainly when he's wearing mithril!"  
"I had no idea he possessed something so fine…from Erebor?"  
"Aye, there's not much mining in the West until you reach the Blue Mountains, far beyond Bilbo's Shire." Kili replied, smiling wistfully. "That's where Fili and I grew up."  
"I should like to see the West someday." Tauriel replied. "My father was from Lindon, the elven realm near to your home."  
"…what was he like?"  
"My father?"  
"Mhmm. I would like to know about him, but only if you would like to tell me."  
"Well…he was called Galadon, in memory of the Elven lord who founded the Western settlement. His hair was the sun on the water, and his eyes the grey of a great sea storm. He was quick to laughter, but slow to forgive offenses against him. He was a carpenter, and often assisted in building the great ships that sail from the Grey Havens. I hear that there was once a flourishing kingdom there, but more and more elves flee the lands of the East to cross the sea, and the numbers of Lindon dwindle."  
"Aye, we've escorted many Elf parties through the mountain passes. Your mother?"  
"The fairest musician under the sky," Tauriel smiled, leaning a cheek on her shoulder. "She was called Rirossel, and was learning music in Lindon when she met my father. She was fire-hearted, and it was said her eyes were emeralds that could see the music of the Ainur hovering in the air and twisting through the rivers and that is what made her songs so fair."  
"When this whole quest business is over, could I meet them?" Kili asked brightly, already day-dreaming about the introduction. At Tauriel's stiff silence he looked up, his smile falling slightly at her grave face.  
"They are in Valinor," she said curtly. "They left Mirkwood nearly six hundred years ago – neither of us shall be seeing them any time soon."

At that, she quickly stood up, brushing frost and crushed grass from her tunic as Kili scrambled up beside her. He put a hand on her elbow, all traces of joking laughter gone. She slowly turned around to face him, her back taut and something hard and guarded behind her eyes. Kili released her elbow, immediately sensing she was _not_ in the mood for a friendly touch at the moment, although he was glad she made no effort to walk away as she once might have done. A moment later she relaxed slightly, giving Kili an apologetic nod and suddenly Tauriel felt rather strange – as if she had taken a deep breath of fresh spring air rather than the sharp winter breeze. Kili's expressions showed nothing but pure, utter anguish, and Tauriel felt something squeeze her heart rather harshly; she quickly smiled down at the earnest dwarf, and felt the uncomfortable pressure in her chest lift when the pained look left his face.  
"Ah, Tauriel, I'm sorry for mentioning it…."  
"No, it was… nice to talk about them. Thank you for listening."  
"I only wish I could have thanked them for producing such a treasure, _amrâlimê_."  
"That word again…" Tauriel murmured, suddenly interested in her boots despite a small smile creeping across her face. "I still don't know the direct translation."  
"I'm sure you can guess." Kili said softly, looking up at her with a smile of his own. "Well, since your family is indisposed, how about I take you to meet mine? The ones you haven't already met. Once we're done in Moria, I could take you to Ered Luin – I know my mum in _particular_ will want to meet you."  
"I would love to see that part of the world, your family included." Tauriel replied happily. After a moment of quiet she took one of Kili's hands up in her own, tracing the fine lines of his palm as a light snow began to fall, barely one flake at a time, although neither party noticed. The pair stood in comfortable silence for several moments – Tauriel looked at Kili's hand, and Kili looked at Tauriel with unabashed admiration. Eventually Tauriel felt his gaze and looked up, blushing as she met Kili's eyes. Her gaze flickered to his hair, where stray snowflakes clung. Keeping one hand on his grasp she reached up and plucked one from his hair, and let it melt onto her fingertips.

"They look like stars," she said, watching the flakes hang in his dark hair.  
"So do these." Kili replied, running a gentle hand over Tauriel's cheekbones.  
"They remind me of my father. He had them as well, all over his face and shoulders. But elves do not think them beautiful."  
"Well, this is the first time I've been glad of our different races! Dwarves call them 'skin stars' and they are said to bring one a happy future – each spot represents a particularly joyful day that they are fated to experience. So you, Lady Tauriel, seem to have quite a good life to lead."  
"I will do my very best to live up to that belief, but…I'm afraid I am going to require some assistance. My life could never be joyful without…on my own." Tauriel murmured softly, rubbing away a stray snowflake that had clung to her nose. Kili stared at her for a moment, then joined their hands once more.  
"I will use every breath that I draw to help you, for as long as you want." He spoke quietly, running his thumbs across her knuckles. "As long as you wish it, I'll be here."  
"I am beginning to think that I will always wish it so," she replied. "There was…once a time when you were lost to me, and I have no wish to repeat the experience."  
"Me neither."


	20. The Hidden Child

Another Friday, another chapter! One last breath before the story picks up again - if you'd like to leave feedback, I always love hearing from you! Cheers!

* * *

It was dusk when Bilbo finally awoke, drenched in deep grey light and propped up on half a dozen pillows. The thickening night seemed to press up against the frosty windows, and the room was filled with heavy silence. Bilbo blinked once and frowned slightly, trying to grasp the fading threads of his dream – he was quickly jolted awake by a large shadow perched in the chair beside his bed, looming over him in the darkness. Before he could be properly afraid however, a match struck and illuminated the face of none other than Gandalf.

"You nearly frightened me out of my wits!" Bilbo squeaked, rubbing at his protesting rib.  
"Apologies, my friend," Gandalf said merrily as he lit a nearby candle. "You seem to have awoken at the most frightening moment."  
"I have trouble believing _that_ was you at your worst."  
"Too true. Usually my worst involves a full pipe and half a keg of Green Dragon ale!"  
"On the contrary, that sounds like a marvelous time." Bilbo replied, smiling wistfully.  
"Indeed it does, my dear Bilbo. You'll be back there soon enough, I should think."  
"Well, at least one of us is still optimistic."

Gandalf frowned, taking in the little hobbit before him with worried eyes. Bilbo looked shockingly healthy for a little fellow that had been tossed – unarmed – into an orc pit. His single cracked rib was the main cause of concern, and even that seemed to be less of an impediment and more of an annoyance to the sturdy creature. The mithril had helped, of course (Gandalf had secretly been admiring the splendid work while Bilbo had been sleeping), but Bilbo's resilience was now bordering on unusual, even for a hobbit.

"I was dreaming about it. The Shire," Bilbo suddenly said, a stiff smile flickering across his face. "About the old mill, and my new white geraniums. I could smell the cut grass, and hear Gamgee's wheelbarrow trundling up the road, and even in my dream he was late because he stopped to comment on someone's garden."  
"A finer fellow there never was."  
"I hope he got my letter – I had Balin send one from Erebor. I asked Gamgee to make sure the Sackville-Bagginses keep their claws out of Bag End while I'm away. Knowing Lobelia, she's already tried several times to move in."  
"There are few fairer houses to live in, if a hobbit hole is where one must live."  
"I might be a little offended if she didn't at least try, in all honesty. But if anyone can keep her away, Gamgee can."  
"I'm sure he won't be the only one glad to see you back among the hills of the Shire."  
"I…don't know if I'll be going back to the Shire." Bilbo stated, pursing his lips. Gandalf raised his great bristling eyebrows in surprise, studying the hobbit with new interest.  
"Oh? This is a new thought."  
"Actually it's rather an old thought, just never spoken aloud before."  
"What has changed? Why, we could hardly drag you away last year!"  
"Yes, well, last year I wasn't dying." Bilbo said quietly, clasping his hands and carefully avoiding eye contact.

Gandalf was suddenly struck by the very great change in Bilbo. The little hobbit who had left the Shire had once trembled at the thought of missing second breakfast, and here he was speaking easily about his upcoming death! The adventurous hobbit-child that had wormed its way into Gandalf's heart was no longer a soft bachelor of the West, but a weathered and beaten traveler who had learned how to properly face dangers. The beloved wooden sword had been replaced with an all-to-real blade, and the bright smile of youth replaced with caution and a certain hardness that could only be earned after months of rough travel.  
And yet, within this new Bilbo, Gandalf could still see the flickering light of fireflies and the Party Tree, festooned with lanterns and streamers. Hidden behind the mithril was still the muddy child, marveling at the fireworks and bombarding the wizard with questions concerning lands beyond the Shire. Gandalf was well aware of the changes that had since come over the hobbit, but for the first time ever he was rather ashamed – a stark contrast from the pride he normally felt regarding the hobbit's increasing courage.

"And what on earth makes you think that is the case?" Gandalf questioned, and finally Bilbo looked up.  
"I can feel it, in here," he replied, placing a hand over his heart, "_not_ my rib," he added with a knowing look. "There's a weight here that I cannot seem to shake."  
"In my experience, the dark is always deepest before a light springs forth," Gandalf mused. "After all, you cannot see the stars until night falls."  
"Or fireflies," Bilbo added with a sullen smile.  
"Or fireflies."  
"I…I think it's the spell, the prophecy we found in Erebor. Normally I think I'd be able to take on an orc no problem."  
"And yet you were weaponless against an armed foe. Tell me, are _all_ hobbits expected to stand up against such a thing?"  
"Gamgee might be able to."  
"Gamgee is hardly ordinary," Gandalf laughed. "And neither are you, my friend. Your cunning and courage has served you well since I've had the pleasure of knowing you and I believe they will continue to do so for many days, no matter what one of the Eldar thought in the First Age. Things were very different back then."

"Were there orcs back then? In the First Age?" Bilbo asked quietly.  
"Orcs, dragons, all manner of foul creatures were under the Dark Lord's control."  
"…Sauron?"  
"No, no, under the rule of Morgoth. Although he is gone, his taint remains in the servants of other dark forces, and I suspect they will linger for many more days, raiding and pillaging as they always have. I was surprised that there had been orc raids even here."  
"Did Lord Gwaeleth ever tell you the rest of that story?"  
"Oh, yes. For the past year there have been small raids, on farms mostly, but eventually the Lords all got involved. The Earth, Water, Law, and Coin Lords pooled their resources and staged a counter-attack several months ago, which was when the previous Lord of Water was killed and Gwaeleth elected in his place."  
"Did it end there?"  
"I'm afraid not. Apparently, the Lord of Earth had an arrangement with the orc bands – they would supply contestants for a combat ring so long as he would let them raid these farms. The one you faced was the last survivor since the counter-attack cut off the lord's…supply."  
"So then the Lord of Earth…"  
"…was apprehended today at Gwaeleth's meeting. You know he was rather impressed that a hobbit had managed to fend off his toughest orc, from what I could tell as he was dragged away in bonds. He was shouting quite a lot of other words, but I think I can assume his meaning."  
"At least someone is impressed."

At this Gandalf sighed, leaned forward so that he could look Bilbo in the eye. The hobbit stared back, searching the wizard's face as Gandalf did the same. On the outside Bilbo appeared just as he said – battered and weary, and something in his face did have the resignation that comes before death – but behind it there was still the adventurous little hobbit that longed to be given a nudge in the right direction. Gandalf decided that he would very much like to see the hobbit-child again, rather than the wanderer with a death wish.

"You've done a very good job convincing yourself of your impending doom, Bilbo Baggins!" Gandalf stated, making Bilbo drop his mouth open in indignant shock. "Are you still hung up about that note about the candle spell? My goodness, you certainly have lost faith in your own abilities! You have not died yet, so perhaps you should stop acting like it and put your effort into helping your friends instead of wallowing in a comfortable bed! You had fifty years of that back in the Shire, and I daresay it will still be there when you return. For now, you must focus on the task at hand – letting yourself heal, _not_ letting yourself fade. Thorin will need your help before this task is ended. Fili and Kili will look to you for guidance, and Tauriel is just discovering the merits of making a new friend. It is up to you to keep the momentum of this journey going – if you falter, so shall we all."

Bilbo stared at Gandalf in shock, still gaping slightly. The candle was throwing deep shadows across the wizard's face, and the air seemed thick with the power of Gandalf's conviction. Bilbo took a deep breath and winced slightly as his rib complained, but looked up at his friend with a clear gaze. There was still fear there, but Gandalf was glad to see something altogether more lively as well.

"You never did lie to me." Bilbo admitted.  
"And I never shall. I do not mean to scare or threaten you, merely to show you the value of your presence."  
"Yes, I know. One day I may even believe you."  
"Until then, I ask that you take my word for it," Gandalf replied kindly. Bilbo nodded once, glad that the candle masked his self-consious flush.  
"Yes, well, I should really be getting some sleep. You know Thorin threatened to leave without me today?" he scoffed, wriggling further under his blankets.  
"The nerve of some dwarves." Gandalf shook his head as he rose, taking the candle with him as he stepped over to the door.  
"Don't worry, I've no intention of letting him slip away like a child."  
"To sleep with you then – you'll need all of your strength for that."  
"Goodnight, Gandalf."  
"Goodnight, my dear Bilbo."


	21. Promise and Pride

A/N: Happy Monday, hopefully spring is warming you all up! As always, I look forward to reading any and all feedback. Cheers!

* * *

Tauriel rose early on the day of departure. Dawn had not yet broken, but already the sky was filled with muted light that promised a sunless day ahead – at the very least there would be no rain, although the world was still in the grips of winter. Frost clung to the windows she swept past, bordering the waking world in icy flowers. She crept quietly downstairs, pack in hand, winding her way down to the house's basement dock. Sheltered by the house itself, three mismatched boats were tethered to the single wooden walkway, suspended in the river water and already laden with supplies. Just as she was about to add her pack to the nearest boat, her eye fell on the huddled form of none other than Bilbo. He was awake, and staring out across the river and towards the mountains beyond from underneath several blankets. She quietly stepped into the boat, smiling at his surprise.

"I hope you did not sleep out here," Tauriel said as she seated herself opposite Bilbo.  
"No, unfortunately, but I think I've done plenty of sleeping in the last few days."  
"Resting is not a sign of weakness," she replied lightly.  
"I know, it's just…Thorin said he would leave without me if I was late."  
"Do really believe that he would leave you behind? I assumed you two were great friends."  
"I thought so too, but I don't think it's that simple anymore. He's desperate to succeed, but he also knows that I'm more of a liability than a strength. Especially now," Bilbo mused, patting his rib gently.  
"I wish I could be more of a help – I'm afraid I have very little experience with friendship. Or healing, for that matter."  
"Well, I know _one_ dwarf who seems to be an exception to both statements," Bilbo said, smiling as Tauriel grinned and bashfully turned away. "Has…has his uncle said anything to you?"  
"Thorin? No, I don't believe we've properly spoken…ever, really. Why do you ask?"  
"I asked him to stop ignoring you. It seemed childish and unnecessary. Still is, actually."  
"He is an intensely proud leader – he may just need time to realize that his friend's advice is worth taking," Tauriel said with a grin, "though the sooner we speak, the more impressed I will be."  
"You and me both," Bilbo agreed, smiling back at his elvish friend.

Once the sun began crawling over the horizon, the rest of the company appeared in various states of wakefulness. Fili and Kili stumbled down first – Fili appeared to have taken all of his brother's energy as he strode purposefully towards an empty boat while Kili stumbled sleepily after him, pausing only to kiss Tauriel's hand with a bleary grin. A grumbling Gandalf and armored Gwaeleth were next, making a striking pair as the wizard settled in the third boat, chatting all the while about undoubtedly important matters. At last Thorin appeared, deep in conversation with Ruinor. They stayed by foot of the stairs for a moment, then shook hands and parted – Ruinor returned to the house, and Thorin strode over the dock.

"It's nice to see you've made a friend, Thorin!" Bilbo cheerful remarked, making the dwarf pause.  
"Ruinor is an ally – we were speaking of strategy, not tea parties," Thorin replied, narrowing his eyes at the hobbit's clipped tone.  
"I'm glad to hear it. We could certainly use _every ally we have_!"  
"We also must be able to choose the right allies – one false promise could ruin this entire quest."  
"And so could false pride, where we might have made a strong connection."  
"We must be diligent then, and examine every possibility."  
"As long as we take each other's advice, I'm sure we'll get on just fine," Bilbo noted with a tight grin. "Anyway, we're glad you showed up. If you'd been late, we might have left you behind!"

At that Thorin flushed, recalling similar words he had spoken to Bilbo the night before. If Bilbo hadn't been so proud of his little victory, he might have chuckled at how quickly the dwarf turned red, all the way from his sharp nose to the ends of his round ears. Unable to tactfully reply, Thorin swept off and busied himself readying the boat he would be sharing with Gandalf; Tauriel pursed her lips in an effort to contain her smile as Bilbo settled smugly into his seat. Soon farewells were had – Gwaeleth shook each traveler's hand warmly, insisting that they were welcome to return any time. Once she took care of the corrupt Lord and his minions (the reason for her armor), she assured them all that the city would be as safe as Imladris.

One by one the little boats pushed off into the river, Gandalf and Thorin leading the way in their canoe. Fili and Kili were next in a similar boat, with Tauriel and Bilbo taking up the rear in their tiny converted sailboat. There was very little need for rowing – the current was slow but strong, so only the occasional stroke was needed. The trio of boats quietly passed the western city edge as the sky brightened, past the mossy stones, moored fishing boats, and finally the stone tower where the Langwell met the Greylin and the great Anduin began.

The little company followed the river most of the day, stopping to build camp as the light began to wane. Although a little out of practice, the group easily set up camp underneath a sail that Tauriel had found while unloading – strung up between three saplings, there was plenty of room for all to find shelter as the chill night closed in.

The next day passed in much the same manner – they cast off at dawn with Mirkwood to their left and plains and mountains to their right. Bilbo felt horribly guilty when Tauriel was forced to row for the both of them, but their little boat was actually fitted for a single rower, unlike the two canoes beside them, and Bilbo was able to contribute by manning the rudder. They chatted frequently, each determined to keep their spirits up after the loss of comfort and security; Gandalf told ancient tales, and Bilbo and Fili were often called upon to sing a song or two. Even Tauriel sang part of an elvish tale, although only Gandalf understood the words. It was only after Fili and Kili performed part of the Song of Durin that everyone fell quiet, reminded once again of the deeper nature of this adventure.


	22. Where There is Smoke

A/N: Happy Friday to you all! Now we're getting to the darker bits - I look forward to hearing what you all think! Cheers!

* * *

They had been three days on the river when it started to rain. The overcast skies finally opened as the three boats cast off, pouring for a few minutes before tapering off to a drizzle the rest of the day. All six were drenched and unhappy, but managed to keep their crafts afloat and steady in the rising currents. When they finally found shore for the night their first act was to pull up the sail-tarp and start a fire. After several tries the fire finally took, and everyone began peeling off wet layers to dry as evening fell. Only Gandalf seemed somewhat dry, and his sour mood lifted slightly at his friends' discomfort. Seated under the sail, the small fire valiantly fought off the damp chill that had settled around them as they all fell into the familiar tasks of setting up camp.

"And how is our invalid?" asked Gandalf as he sat beside Bilbo.  
"Still alive. Barely," the hobbit replied with a dry grin.  
"I am glad to hear it. We still have a ways to go, but we will soon find refuge, and hopefully a warm hearth and food."  
"We are not even _beginning_ to approach Lorien," Tauriel noted. "We have not even passed the Carrock."  
"The Carrock is where we will find help, my dear. I – _we_ – know a man who lives near there, who has housed us once before and hopefully will do so again."  
"You mean Beorn?" Kili asked, poking the fire with a wet stick. Gandalf grunted in reply.  
"The Skinchanger? _He_ is our point of refuge?" Tauriel asked, half fearful and half curious.  
"Yes, we should reach his house in two days – we have made better time than I anticipated, and the rain will help."  
"He is no friend to elves," Tauriel replied worriedly.  
"Well, neither is Thorin, but you seem to be getting on rather well!"

Bilbo, Fili, and Kili all turned to Gandalf in shock, but the wizard seemed unconcerned as he plucked on a stray scarf thread. Bilbo looked to Tauriel for an answer, but the elf was too busy glaring daggers at the wizard to notice. Thorin looked utterly calm, despite the curious stares of his nephews. The heavy silence stretched, broken only by the sound of the river and sprinkling rain, until Bilbo could bear it no longer.

"For pity's sake, will one of you say something?" he cried, glaring pointedly between Tauriel and Thorin.  
"What is there to say?" Thorin asked, and Bilbo was tempted to smack the calm look right off his face.  
"This enmity you've created has to stop, you and Tauriel need to be allies, not just…cooperatives!"  
"We are, Master Baggins."  
"This is the kind of—hold on, you are?" Bilbo floundered, thrown off by Thorin's honest reply.  
"We spoke last night, when trading watch," Tauriel supplied.  
"This quest is bigger than any one of us, and we agreed that no one's pride should jeopardize its success," Thorin added.  
"As I said, rather well," Gandalf chuckled.

* * *

After an unrestful night the company was back on the river – the rain had stopped falling, but had swelled the river and accelerated the previously sluggish currents. Bilbo was content to sulk in silence – he felt his pride had been wounded the previous night. He felt he had a certain level of intimacy with both Tauriel and Thorin, and quite simply felt left out when he had learned of their new alliance. He knew he should be happy that they had decided to work together, but for some reason he found himself behaving like a child. None of the others suspected this to be the case; they were convinced he had simply slept poorly because of his injured rib.

As the day brightened the clouds began to disperse, creating great swaths of warming sunlight that helped to lift everyone's mood. The blue sky grew with each paddle stroke, and the vales to the west were scattered with dappled light all the way to the roots of the distant mountains. All seemed fair, even to Bilbo, until he caught a whiff of something strange; smoke. Tauriel saw his scowl of confusion as she rowed, raising her eyebrows in a silent question.

"I smell smoke," Bilbo said, looking around for a possible source.  
"I can too. Can you see where it is coming from?" Tauriel asked, turning around to see where they were headed. She squinted against the light on the water, then turned back around with a frown. "There's a smoke cloud south of us, on the western bank."  
"How can tell?"  
"Elf eyes," she replied with a smile and a heave of the oars. "Come on, we need to tell Gandalf."

* * *

Tauriel's eyes hadn't failed her – soon after she had alerted the rest of the party, a dark smudge appeared to the south west. As they drew closer it became apparent that it was not a campfire or leaf-burning as had been suggested; a small village lay in smoldering ruin as the three boats silently pulled up to the pebbled beach.

No one knew what to say. A dozen wooden huts were slowly burning away, throwing up plumes of smoke into the clearing sky. Several beached barges had been set aflame as well, and a rectangular stone foundation lay surrounded by charred timbers in the center of the tiny village. There were scattered goods and tools around the tramped area, but no bodies in sight as the six travelers began exploring the area. The only sound was the burbling river and the crunch of pebbles and dirt underfoot as the company fanned out between the ruins. Suddenly Fili cried out and stumbled backwards, tripping over himself as he scrambled back to the village center. Kili was the first by his shaken brother's side as the others quickly followed, several gasping in horror at Fili's terrible discovery.

Behind one of the huts were the missing bodies – nearly a dozen corpses were piled atop one another beside an overturned caravan. Thorin and Tauriel were the first to recover, racing around the smoking building in the hopes of finding some survivor. Gandalf frowned at the scene and put a calming hand on Bilbo's shoulder as Kili hauled the shuddering Fili to his feet. Tauriel returned a moment later, her face grim.

"Dwarves," she said lowly. "No survivors."  
"By the stars…" Bilbo whispered.  
"Are you sure? None of them are alive?" Kili asked worriedly, glancing over at his uncle.  
"I am sure," Tauriel replied as Thorin returned.  
"A dwarf cannot live without his head," he spat, handing Kili a sliced leather belt.  
"This is from Ered Luin!" Kili said, running a finger of the heavy silver buckle. "It's the sigil of the trading house."  
"No heads?" Fili asked weakly, paling considerably under his golden hair. Thorin shook his head, and with a groan Fili raced away with a hand clutched over his mouth.  
"We cannot tarry here," Gandalf finally said as Kili trotted after his brother. "Construct a pyre if you wish, but we must be on the river in an hour, understood?"  
There was a murmur of agreement, then Tauriel and Thorin went off to gather the brothers.  
"Who would do this?" Bilbo asked quietly. "If they were a trading party, there must have been others living here."  
"Yes, Beorn's people have many such settlements along the Anduin."  
"You mean Men did this?"  
"No, I suspect a fouler hand at play here. Beorn will want to know about this, in any case. Come, let's put out some of these fires."

Bilbo nodded, glad to get away from the dead. While he and Gandalf quenched the smoldering huts with river water, Tauriel and Fili used remnants of the houses to build a rudimentary pyre. Thorin and Kili carefully lifted each body with respect – Fili forced himself to watch the entire process, despite the sickly tinge around his face. Soon the bodies were set alight, Thorin rumbled out a simple dwarvish funeral rite, and the little party set off down the river – each as eager as the next to leave the charred little village behind.

* * *

A/N: Just a heads up - the next chapter will be out on TUESDAY (I'll be out of town Monday) and then we'll pick back up on Friday as usual. Cheers!


	23. Biriz the Blood-sick

A/N: Here's the next bit - sorry it's a day late! As always, I love to hear any and all feedback you guys have. Cheers!

* * *

The smell of smoke lingered long after the three boats had returned to the river. The great Anduin quickly swept them away from the scene, but no one could speak for a very long while as the blue sky gazed down at the company, marred by the plume of smoke that rose behind them in the fading distance. Thanks to the previous day's rain, the swirling waters bore them quickly away into the south. That night they camped on the eastern bank – they had found no evidence of orcs or otherwise at the ruined village, but were unwilling to take the risk – and silence reigned long after the little fire they dared light was crackling merrily. Fili sat a few paces away, fingering the silver buckle in solitude until Kili dropped to the ground beside him bearing two bowls of soup.

"You should eat, brother," Kili said as he placed one beside the blonde dwarf. Fili glanced down at the steaming bowl but shook his head, motioning for Kili to start eating without him.  
"I'm serious, _biriz_, you need to eat!" Kili declared through a mouthful of thin soup.  
"Not tonight, _faraklawz_."  
"Oh no you don't, this isn't going to be another one of your sorrow-fests!" Kili growled, putting his bowl down and turning to stare at his brother. Fili couldn't return the look as he traced the emblem on the buckle; a hammer, bordered by a range of mountains and backed by a star glinted in the darkness.  
"They were our people, brother. Merchants, not warriors, slaughtered and disgraced, left to rot in the wilderness."  
"But we found them, and sent their souls on as best we could."  
"We shouldn't have had to, though!" Fili nearly snarled, gripping the buckle with white knuckles.  
"And yet we did!" Kili replied emphatically. "You cannot carry them on your shoulders – only in your heart."  
"I will carry them any way I see fit! You should keep your nose out of my business," Fili snapped.

He tried to turn away from Kili, but the young dwarf was having none of that. He grabbed either side of Fili's face, forcing his scowling brother to look him in the eyes. He wasn't surprised to see tear tracks over Fili's tanning cheeks – it was how _old_ his brother looked that shocked him. The bright-eyes brother had been replaced by a grieving prince, and the weight showed in the fine lines and healing scars across his face. His eyes – which Kili had once been convinced were actually sapphires – were full to the brim with guilt, and Kili saw straight to the root of the problem.  
"There was nothing you could have done," he reasoned, moving his hands to Fili's shoulders. "You would have fought with them if you could – you should be content with that thought!"  
"I don't think I could have…" Fili nearly whispered.  
"Couldn't what? Fight with them? Of course you would have! You were one of the best fighters in the company, always saving everyone else. No one back home could beat you in a dual-blade match-"  
"I don't think I can fight anymore," Fili finally muttered, and Kili was instantly quiet. "The moment I saw the blood…I just…I could not bear to look a moment longer."  
"Are you…are you saying you're blood-sick?"  
"What else could it be? It never bothered me until the battle on Erebor's slopes. Besides, sickness seems to run in our family."

They sat in silence for a long while, neither quite sure what to say. The other four were conversing quietly around the fire, discussing plans and studiously avoiding interrupting the brothers' privacy. Eventually Kili picked up his cooling soup, and nudged his brother's foot impatiently. Fili sighed, clearly exhausted, and consented to partaking in his own bowl. Kili watch his brother eat once he had finished, then smiled as an idea came over him.

"When we get to Moria," he began cheerfully, "we'll find eleven of the finest moon-shards, one for each of them, and place them in the walls of the Great Hall. Once our people arrive, we will hold a proper ceremony – Uncle will play the harp again, and I'll bring my fiddle. We'll sing songs long into the night, and even mighty Carahadras will cry for our lost brothers. We'll feast and dance and weep until dawn breaks through the Western Gate…"

Kili continued to speak of the great honors they would bestow on the families of the fallen merchants as Fili slowly ate. The blonde dwarf would occasionally smile softly at his brother's antics, and with each bite a bit of his sickly pallor was lost. He relished the sounds of Kili's rolling voice, and eventually started adding to his brother's monologue – by the time the moon rose, he had eaten another bowl and had shed many signs of his guilt. The buckle was stowed in a breast pocket, tucked away but always present, and as he drifted to sleep Fili made a vow to Mahal that he would use every breath to ensure no other dwarves might be lost to a nameless foe.

* * *

They set off before dawn, eager to finally reach a safe point on their journey. They were even closer to the Carrock than they had planned – it was only an hour after sunrise when the point suddenly rose around a bend in the river. It loomed over them as the paddled around its base, casting deep shadows as they began sped along the dark river. Not long after Beorn's fields sprang up along the banks his walled house was finally visible, nestled among the pastures as they remembered. The boats were beached on the edge of a cattle field, and the little company quickly trekked through the frosty grasses until they came to his gate. Bilbo found himself once again walking beside Tauriel, who looked decidedly anxious as they followed the high timber walls.

"Are you nervous?"  
"Yes," she replied simply. "I grew up on tales of the beast-man who lived east of the Greenwood. I thought it was just a myth to keep elflings from straying too far."  
"Beorn's not all bad. As a man, anyway. He's certainly…odd, but then again so are we all I suppose, in our own ways."  
"You are on good terms?"  
"Well, not _bad_ terms, at least," Bilbo replied nonchalantly, "I don't really know if he's on good terms with anybody. You know, he was at the battle of Erebor – we might not have won if not for his help, and the journey to even _reach_ Erebor would have certainly been different."  
"Then I shall be glad to thank him for his aid, both to you and in the battle. He must be very fearsome."  
"To you Big Folk, maybe. When we first met him he was a great black bear – dealing with him as a man was much easier."  
"And you've stayed here before?"  
"Yes, on our way to the Lonely Mountain. He seemed to think I was a rabbit of some sort, always calling me 'bunny'."  
"Bunny?" Tauriel laughed. "In Sindarin it is _meison_. It must be because of your nose – you wriggle it around when you are thinking about something serious."  
"I do no such thing!" Bilbo replied with mock indignation.  
"It must be the ears, then," Tauriel mused, poking playfully at the pointed tip that stuck out from the brown curls. "Can I assume you are not hiding a tail?"  
"You can, and you would be correct in that assumption. Maybe if you're as lucky as I am you'll get a nickname of your own."

* * *

A/N: In English, biriz = golden and faraklawz = walnut. There is actually no canon word for 'rabbit' in Sindarin, so I excersised a bit of creative liberty ;)


	24. Beorn's Bunny

A/N: Hello all, hopefully those of you in school are getting near the end! If not, well...leave a review and tell me all about it ;) I always love reading feedback - it helps me figure out what you as an audience like, dislike, etc. Cheers!

* * *

Steam rose in wispy tendrils as the morning sun rose, casting deep shadows past the six single-file travelers. The walk to Beorn's gate seemed much longer when they were not being chased by a snarling man-bear, but the clear skies lifted the spirits more than they realized. They wound between the wide pastures, and Bilbo was delighted to look up and see several of their borrowed ponies were following along the other side of the low fence. Somehow the grass was still green and lush, despite the frost, and all six pairs of feet sparkling by the time they finally reached the gate.

It was flung open, as it had been before, framing the gardens and beehives just as Bilbo remembered, only with fewer blooms. Kili, eager to get into the warm and familiar safety, was pulled back by Gandalf as he tried to pass through the gate.

"Steady, now, we must think carefully about our next move!" the wizard grumbled, apologetically patting Kili on the head for his hasty grabbing.  
"But we know Beorn!" Kili protested, "And even better, he knows us!"  
"What he _knows_ is that you three died at the Lonely Mountain – even a solid ally would be suspicious of dead dwarf royalty running around in the wild! We must be careful how we proceed – we can no longer forage ahead without forethought," Gandalf mused, stroking he beard in thought.  
"We cannot wait all day for a plan either," Thorin rumbled.  
"Yes, yes, I'm well aware."  
"Do we even know if he's in?" Fili asked, searching the sky for signs of stove smoke.  
"Why don't I just pop in and check?" Bilbo piped up, and all eyes turned to him.  
"If he sees you all by yourself he'll likely have even more questions," Gandalf harrumphed, but Bilbo was one step ahead.  
"He won't see me. Nobody ever sees me."  
"Bilbo, my dear, while you are certainly light on your feet and immensely quiet-"  
"No, no, I mean _nobody will see me_," Bilbo emphasized, "I can absolutely promise you."  
"Out of the question, I'm afraid, unless you've been practicing how to turn invisible."  
"I have, actually."

Everyone stared at the little hobbit at a loss for words. Even Kili raised his eyebrows, obviously enjoying the banter between the frustrated Bilbo and the preoccupied Gandalf. The wizard raised a bushy brow Bilbo, and even Thorin stared at him curiously. Fili and Tauriel both looked rather bored – they had grown accustomed to stumbling across the hobbit's hidden depths. With an exasperated sigh Bilbo rummaged in a pocket and took out his ring, keeping a firm hold on it as both Gandalf and Thorin leaned closer.

"My word, Bilbo! What on Earth is that?"  
"It's a ring, Gandalf."  
"Yes, I can see that very well, thank you!"  
"A treasure from Erebor?" Thorin asked, and Bilbo was slightly unnerved by the threatening undertone.  
"Not at all! I, well, it was given to me, as a present for winning a game of riddles."  
"And you never thought to tell me?" Gandalf demanded angrily.  
"Oh, forgive me, I was too preoccupied with a _live_ _dragon_ and an _army_ of _orcs_ to find the time to discuss it!" Bilbo shot back.  
"Let him use it," Tauriel interjected, "and it can be discussed once we are certain of our safety."  
"Excellent idea!" Kili beamed, and Fili nodded emphatically beside him.

Gandalf appeared conflicted, but eventually nodded his consent. Bilbo impatiently pushed past the glowering Thorin, ignoring the jolt in his side, and was soon trotting into Beorn's gardens. Shallow meandering paths wove between the overflowing beds, and the familiar large bees swayed to and fro despite the chill of winter. Keeping close to the high wooden wall, Bilbo slunk along the edge of the property, making his way around to the back of the house. The rear door was open, making Bilbo's target clear – the ring rolled easily between his fingertips, begging to be worn, and Bilbo was happy to oblige-

-until the ring slipped over his finger. Before the ring had made him feel powerful – threatening, even – but now all he could feel was fear of some nameless horror. He could feel its invisible gaze, hear its silent breath, and taste the tang of blood in the sickly air. He felt watched – nearly suffocated with complete, petrifying fear – as if he moved so much as a hair, he would be struck down and snatched away into the shaky shadows around him. He was utterly lost, frozen with fear in the once-familiar washed out world before him.

Something inside him rebelled against this fear – something hard, and brave, and probably Tookish. This was _his_ ring after all, and he would use it as he saw fit, even if it was a fool's errand for a paranoid wizard. The forces around him seemed to shrink in the presence of this new-found courage, as if surprised this broken hobbit still had a spark of passion left. Bilbo felt the pressure around him begin to ebb away, allowing Bilbo to stumble forward. Bilbo all but ran to the back door, silent as ever, relishing the feeling of casting off his strange net as he trotted through the door. With a triumphant smirk, he felt the last shreds of fear slip from his shoulders as he glanced at the too-large surroundings, only to find himself before a man of fire.

He was standing in the center of the room, simply looking at Bilbo as the hobbit stood rooted to the door frame. Every nerve in Bilbo's body was instantly alarmed, screaming at him to get away from the abomination before him. The figure towered over him, at least double Bilbo's height, wreathed in noxious flames as it slowly stepped towards him. Bilbo could feel its desire as it reached for him – how _dare_ it want his ring? – and did the only think he could think of; he ripped the ring from his finger as he staggered backwards.

The world snapped back into reality, for all its harsh light and saturated colors. Bilbo shakily looked up to see not the burning figure, but Beorn leaning over him. A mixture of concern and curiosity played across his face as Bilbo nervously stood up, brushing himself off and tucking the ring back into his pocket. He shortly bowed, suddenly at a loss as to why he was even in Beorn's house, but was spared the imminent awkward silence as the great man before him smiled.

"You are looking well, little bunny," Beorn rumbled, gently patting Bilbo on the head.  
"Ah, thank, erm, thank you, Beo- Lord Beorn," Bilbo stammered as he tried to patch together his composure.  
"You are lost, I think."  
"No, well, we're not exactly lost."  
"We? Have you brought more dwarves?"  
"Uh, not as many as last time. We have an elf friend, as well!"  
"One of the Eldar, travelling with dwarves and a hobbit? I assume Gandalf is not far away."  
"No, he's here too, but…you know, I think I'd better just let them tell you how it is."


	25. The New Lieutenant

A/N: In this chapter you'll meet Isidra - a character created by hollyhobbit101 from the giveaway! As always, I love to hear any and all feedback :) Cheers!

* * *

As the bees hummed and the sun rose, Beorn was told of what had transgressed in the aftermath of Erebor's battle. Gandalf did most of the talking, although he had been rather caught off guard when Bilbo had come back with their host in tow, and found a surprisingly informed listener in the quiet hermit. The wizard explained nearly everything from the spells to their stay at Siryamen, and nothing seemed to ruffle Beorn's feathers. Fili and Kili quickly made themselves at home with a plate of honey cakes, while Thorin and Bilbo occasionally corrected Gandalf's recollection; Tauriel had politely excused herself to wander around the gardens and fields.

"You may stay here," Beorn finally said, "if that is what you wish."  
"It is, and we are grateful for your hospitality," Thorin replied.  
"You are welcome, Thorin Oakenshield."  
"I'm afraid there is one more thing you should know," Gandalf murmured. "We passed a settlement of sorts on our way down the Anduin, not even a village. Would they have been under your protection?"  
"I believe so, there are several such places north of here. What of them?"  
"Well, when we arrived it appeared to have been…attacked," Gandalf replied, twisting his mouth anxiously. Beorn stood very still, holding a pitcher of milk in both hands.  
"Go on," he ground out.  
"We found no bodies of Men, but the homes had been set aflame."  
"You suspect orcs of this crime. Where there any corpses at the scene?"  
"If by corpses you mean beheaded Blue Mountain dwarves, then yes," Thorin spat angrily.  
"My people gone, yours slain…" Beorn mused quietly, "I agree this sounds like raiding activity. I will do what I can, although it will not be much."

At that moment Tauriel quietly slipped in and stood in the doorway for a few moments while Beorn and Gandalf spoke quietly. Kili beamed at her through his mouthful of biscuit, but his face fell at her stern expression.  
"Tauriel, is something wrong?" he asked, drawing the room's attention.  
"Lord Beorn, I think you may have more than just us for company tonight."

* * *

Soon all seven of them were standing around the gates, squinting towards the river. At the ford where they had tethered the boats, Tauriel's elvish eyes had spotted a flicker of movement – something she had learned long ago to make known to her superiors. From her perch in one of the enormous trees, she described what she saw; it was soon visible to those without elvish sight, and before long there was a very strange party pulling up to Beorn's gate. Host of large Men – battered but alive – was being escorted by a company of elves. Several carts were loaded with women, children, and supplies, and the whole party slowed to a halt as the leader barked out a few words in Elvish.

Willowy of limb and stern of look, the female elf was dressed much as her companions – Bilbo immediately recognized the mottled green tunics and dual daggers as Guard's materials from Mirkwood. Her sharp blue eyes were set above rounded cheekbones, marking her as young despite her firm brows and chin. Her hair, one of the many shades of brown found among the elves of Mirkwood, was pulled back with practicality and simplicity – there was no air of frivolity or romanticism about her as she bowed before Beorn.

"Lord Beorn, these Men claim to be under your protection," she stated coolly, nodding to the unloading carts. "We found them wandering through our wood, and so have brought them to you. They claimed there was no village for them, and insisted on being escorted here rather than Edoras or Siryamen."  
"I thank you for aiding them," Beorn replied, stepping aside to let the Men pass.  
"The order came from our King, my lord, not from myself," she replied with a sniff, frowning at the glowering Thorin standing beside Gandalf.  
"Then pass on my thanks. I had no wish to inconvenience you – my grounds are yours for the night, if you wish."  
"War inconveniences us all. We will be on our way shortly."

The last few of Beorn's folk shuffled through the gate, leaving the handful of elves surrounding empty carts. Tauriel, who had been watching from her lookout among the branches, dropped down as the last child darted into the house. In a few steps she was beside Beorn with a hesitant smile on her lips, and as soon as the elves saw her they snapped into salutes.

"You are looking well, Isidra," Tauriel greeted the leader, motioning for the elves to relax.  
"Thank you, Captain," Isidra replied, trying not to lose her composure.  
"And you have been promoted?"  
"Yes, Captain, to lieutenant."  
"The rank suits you. I have no doubt you will do well in such a position."

Tauriel was suddenly aware that their conversation had an audience, and felt a subconscious flush crawl up her neck. With a quick look at Bilbo, their little company was quickly herded away – a quiet word about the honey cakes and the three dwarves were easily moved. Gandalf and Beorn went to speak with the twenty refugees, and soon there were only elves hovering around the gate.

Each of Isidra's ten subordinates greeted Tauriel emphatically. Rumors had spread of her wartime bravery, both on and off the battlefield. She learned that Legolas had indeed left for Dunedain country, and that the King was currently in negotiation talks with Bard and Dain now that the battle was over. Once the pleasantries were had, Isidra sent them to work packing up the carts and getting the horses to water. She and Tauriel were soon left alone at the gates, but quickly found a comfortable bench in the garden.

"How do you like being in charge?" Tauriel asked with a grin as they sat.  
"I like the responsibility, although the Guard is spread thin these days," Isidra replied, tapping her foot thoughtfully.  
"I have no doubt you will keep everyone safe. The world is reeling at the moment, and people will need to find strength somewhere."  
"Most of my patrols are within the forest – I can only do so much."  
"You mean you are only _willing_ to do so much," Tauriel chided gently. "But you were always very good at following orders."  
"Not all of us are the adventurous type."  
"Perhaps not, but there was once a time when you were."  
"I have responsibility now. I obey the king's orders," Isidra stated crisply.  
"There is more in the world than one unsocial king, my friend. One day I hope you find that."  
"Is that what you did?" Isidra suddenly snapped, but Tauriel appeared unruffled. "You might have found the world, but you abandoned your people in the process. I was only promoted because you left – you created a vacuum, and threw the Guard off balance because of your absence. How can you justify throwing one world into chaos for the sake of another?"  
"I act as I think right, and your judgement is unwelcome and unjust," Tauriel replied carefully. "You must learn to accept that there are some forces that are beyond your control, and some that are not. I am not in your control, just as you are no longer in mine. I am here because I made it so – I faced down our king for my right to fight for my beliefs, and only Eru can judge if I have done rightly."  
"And yet I find you in the company of dwarves, hidden in this vale like a fugitive!"  
"Those dwarves are more important to the world than myself-"  
"How can you say that?" Isidra interrupted, wilting sadly. "How can you think that anyone, let alone a _dwarf_, is more important than you?"  
"Because I could not bear seeing them in strife, not while I could help."  
"It's not because you're in love with one of them? That's what the rumors are saying," Isidra scoffed, but instantly regretted the comment as a rare cloud gathered behind Tauriel's steely gaze.  
"I will not ask how you dared such a statement. You are young, Isidra, even younger than I, and perhaps I am partly to blame for your anger - but for now this conversation is over."

Tauriel stood silently and Isidra quickly followed suit – there was a hearty mix of shame and anger still in her young face, and Tauriel's heart was softened. She put a gentle hand on the younger elf's shoulder, pursing her mouth for a moment before speaking.

"I hope you will stay the night here. Beorn is not as fearsome as our bed-stories would have us believe, and I should like to talk to my past pupil once I am not so tired and angry," Tauriel smiled lightly. "I think we have both had a trying day, and we will be able to better speak our minds in the morning."  
"I agree," Isidra replied dutifully.

Tauriel bowed slightly, then removed her hand and strode towards the bustling house. Isidra watched her go silently, recalling time and time again she had watched her mentor walk away. Ever since the battle she had wondered why she walked away from her home, her role, her friends… With a sigh she rubbed her nose, thinking hard as she walked back to the gates. The fresh horses were just being hitched back to the carts, and her company was chattering amongst themselves as they readied to get back on the road. With a quick word she summoned her company about her.

"Take the horses to the field, the carts can be brought inside the gate. We'll be staying here tonight."

* * *

A/N: Just a heads up that there will be no chapter this Friday - I'll be out of town again. I'm sorry to keep postponing chapters, but once summer is in full swing I promise the schedule will be more regular. Cheers!


	26. Tauriel's High Company

A/N: Aaaand we're back! With more of the lovely Isidra, no less! Any and all of your feedback is much appreciated, and will undoubtedly be read and noted. Cheers!

* * *

Night fell swiftly, and one by one the stars winked into life as the remnants of the day faded and Beorn's numerous guests grew drowsy. Nearly two dozen men, women, and children were sheltered in one of the large barns, as well as the small company of elves who seemed content to wait out the night in the treetops. Bilbo and his companions were sheltered in the house as before, and the three dwarves were carefully kept away from too many prying eyes – they all seemed to know that desperate times can loosen the most innocent of tongues.

Tauriel insisted on first watch, knowing full well that her companions were more in need of rest than she was – even Gandalf looked more disheveled and haggard than usual, and shuffled off to bed without a peep. The last shreds of dusk were retreating when she finally got a small fire going, and though the air was cold she barely felt it as she counted the waking stars. She was unsurprised when she was quietly joined by Isidra some time later, and for a long while neither of them spoke. The crackle of the fire and an occasional owl were the only sounds, although Tauriel was acutely aware that the fidgeting younger elf clearly had something on her mind.

"Whatever you have to say," Tauriel spoke quietly, "you may say it. You have no need to fear my judgement, even if I were once again your mentor."  
"You told me once that we didn't need the rest of the world," Isidra said slowly. "You claimed that our kingdom would be eternal, and the places beyond our border would fade away sooner or later."  
"And you are wondering why the change of heart?" Tauriel supplied, and Isidra mutely nodded. "Very well, I think I owe you as much."

Pulling a blanket over her shoulders, Tauriel nestled deeper into the thick grasses as she began her story. She spoke of her parents, and their meeting – something that Isidra had always wondered about, but never heard. Tauriel spoke of their journey to Mirkwood, where they were married and Tauriel was born. Isidra listened dutifully, absorbing each word. She learned of Tauriel's simple childhood, and how she came to be the king's ward and a great friend to the prince. The rest of the story was familiar territory – her eager entry into the guard, her apprenticeship under Legolas, and her gradual rise through several ranks as the spiders began spawning in Dol Guldur.

"When I spoke to you of the decaying world around us, I had only ever known our realm," Tauriel added. "To me, the rest of the world was simply…unimportant, or at least not as important as the Greenwood. This is what he king had been telling me my whole life, so naturally I believed him. I thought our lord was speaking simple, hard truths, and that the rest of Middle Earth would eventually come to the same conclusion. But then one night, during the Feast of Starlight, Legolas snuck me up into the treetops. I've never felt such freedom," she smiled sadly, glancing up at the stars overhead. "It was then that I first saw how small we were in the grand scheme of time. We were not fated to last forever, as the king claimed, we were fated to hide in the darkness as the rest of the world grew and flourished despite danger, evil, and death. In that moment I knew I would never again be content to sit in the dappled shadows until the world's ending. I was changed then, from the person who you remember into an entirely different creature."

Isidra was quiet for a long time, ruminating over all that she had heard. Her breath hazed before her in the chilled air, and thin clouds veiled the stars along the horizon.  
"And so you skulk about the wilderness with four dwarves and a wizard."  
"Three dwarves, actually, one of them is a hobbit."  
"One of the Western Halflings?" Isidra asked, clearly surprised. "But the little folk are only fables."  
"Bilbo is many things, but a fable is not one of them," Tauriel smiled, "I assure you he is very real, and I consider myself lucky to count him among my friends."  
"I suppose those dwarves are your friends as well," Isidra muttered. Tauriel ignored her tone.  
"In a way, yes. Dwarves vary more in terms of values and temperaments than the Eldar, so perhaps 'friend' is not the correct word. 'Ally' seems more appropriate."  
"More varied, but apparently more warlike, even on good terms."  
"You seem determined to dislike them," Tauriel frowned, peering over the fire at Isidra. "They have had a very poor life, and do not deserve your censure."  
"I will put my censure where I will," Isidra shot back, pulling her shoulders back proudly.  
"I think you misunderstand my situation," Tauriel offered. "They did not trick me, or kidnap me, or buy me when coming here. I gave myself freely to their cause, because they have a task that cannot fail. They have precious little time in which to complete an impossible task, and that was why I left. Lord Thranduil knew enough of this to grant my freedom, but even if he had not I still would have helped."

The pair fell back into deep silence. Isidra, for all her scowling, slowly felt reason sink into her heart as Tauriel's impassioned words swirled around her mind. She was beginning to see before her a creature of will and strength, not the blind coward she thought had betrayed their people. She resented this feeling of change within her – it was beyond her control, and she was not the least pleased that her own heart was being turned by another's fair and true words. And so she sat in silence, committing their talk to memory for further contemplation – she knew it might be a long time before the two of them saw eye to eye, but for now she had a start.

"You said there was a hobbit with you," Isidra suddenly remembered. "What was he called?"  
"Bilbo Baggins, although the dwarves delight in calling him their 'burglar'."  
"I knew your words sounded familiar. Our king has named him to us as an Elf-Friend."  
"You are not serious?" Tauriel asked, shock playing across her face. "I did not look to the king for such noble treatment."  
"Nor did any of us, but so it is. Word has travelled of your friend's gentility towards our king, and his return of the Gems of Lasgalen."  
"I knew of the gems but not their reward…this may help our journey, although the help must wait until we are once again among friends. Our path is through Lorien, where Gandalf is friends with the Lady and hopes to find haven and help."  
"You travel in high company, Captain. I am surprised you have no kings or princes among you." Isidra remarked with a dry smile.  
"I am as surprised as you are," Tauriel cheerily smiled back. "But the treatment of my friends is based on their characters, not their status. Although I might make an exception for Lady Galadriel!"

Isidra couldn't help but chuckle at that – the image of Tauriel chatting casually with the Lady of the Golden Wood was too absurd for either of them, and soon they were both in fits of giggles. They sat together the remainder of the night, occasionally reminiscing over this bit of training or that part of a party. As they night drew on Tauriel slowly came back into Isidra's good graces, and likewise Isidra surprised Tauriel with her growing wisdom. The two of them were once again friend long before dawn, and each vowed secretly to keep their friendship alive for all of their coming days, as they has silently done so many years before.


	27. Cubs and Chains

A/N: Another day, another chapter! Feedback is always appreciated - you know I love hearing what you readers think! Cheers!

* * *

Morning was in full swing when Bilbo awoke – pale sunlight poured in through the open doors and windows, and the last shreds of frost were dissolving away in veils of mist. He groaned and rolled over, wincing as various sore areas protested, tugging his blankets around him as he tried to bury himself further into the hay. A chorus of giggles nearby made him peek around his covering, and he found himself face to face with a half a dozen grinning children. They were all clothed in layers of brown wool, and none of them could be above the age of ten (although Bilbo was only accustomed to judging the age of hobbit children). They were all seated in a cluster not five feet away, grinning at him in delight and wonder.

"Good morning," Bilbo finally said as he sat up, keeping the blanket firmly around his shoulders.  
"What are you?" the eldest child asked. "Are you a dwarf?"  
"No, silly, he's got thorn ears, like the elves!"  
"He's too short for a elf."  
"What's on his feet?"  
"I thought dwarves always had axes."  
"Why haven't you got a beard?"  
"I wonder if he knows elf-speak?"  
"Maybe he's a baby dwarf, he hasn't got his beard yet."  
"I'm not a dwarf _or_ an elf," Bilbo finally interjected, and the high-pitched banter instantly stopped.  
"What are you, then?"  
"I'm a hobbit, and much else besides, if you must know."  
"A hobber?"  
"No no, he said a rabbit!" one of the younger children piped up.  
"No, _hobbit_," Bilbo emphasized.  
"What else are you?" the oldest child asked, peering at Bilbo with large round eyes not unlike Beorn's. Her hair was a mess of light brown curls, barely kept in place by a headscarf, and under the smudges of dirt and sunburn there was a round little nose flanked by round freckled cheeks. Her curiosity was honest and pure, and Bilbo found he rather liked her open questions even if they were blunter than he was accustomed to. She seemed to be the leader of sorts, and was far more patient than Bilbo expected a child to be.

"Shouldn't you be with your parents?"  
"They're building a house right now," the girl replied, "and cubs aren't allowed to help. Are you a cub?"  
"A cub? As in a child? Um, no, I'm quite fully grown."  
"You're very small."  
"Well, so are you!"  
"Yes, but Pa says I'm going to be bigger than him someday."  
"Maybe I'll grow up someday as well," Bilbo muttered as he stood, shaking off bits of hay and heading towards the door.

The six children silently trotted after him, single file and vigilant. Bilbo was quickly unnerved by the six sets of wide brown eyes that watched him, the six brown heads that bobbed behind him, and the six pairs of worn shoes that trotted behind him. They followed him through his daily activities, as if the moment they left him alone he would vanish. This would be a very likely possibility if Bilbo had forgotten the experience his ring had given him not two days ago – it was still nonetheless tempting, and he often caught himself rolling the ring around in his pocket anxiously.

The adult refugees were much more imposing than Bilbo remembered. Although lesser in stature than Beorn, both men and women were tall and broad of shoulder, with thick brown hair and solidly built. For most of the day they put their hefty muscles to good use in the building of a long shelter, and though the spoke little they worked quickly and efficiently in their task. Beorn himself was harder to locate, but Bilbo (and his entourage) eventually found him deep in discussion with the rest of the company in one of the barns, along with Isidra and another elf.

"Bilbo, my friend," Gandalf stated in surprise, "we were wondering when you might rise and join us. We were talking of our next steps, and were about to send for you! But it appears you needed no calling," he mused, sizing up the children shuffling awkwardly behind the hobbit.  
"They didn't wake me," Bilbo replied, "but they also won't stop following me."  
"Let me have a turn with them," Gandalf said cheerfully, "I'm quite good with children, if I do say so!"

A moment later the wizard was shuffling out the door with the six children bobbing around him, much to Bilbo's relief.  
"I doubt they have ever seen a hobbit before," Tauriel smiled, motioning him over.  
"They seem to think that I am half elf, half dwarf," he grumbled, although he had secretly enjoyed the unabashed attention.  
"Is such a thing possible?"  
"All I know is that hobbits came out of the East, like the rest of the Big Folk."  
"You will pass the first land of your people if you continue along the Anduin," Beorn rumbled. "Long ago they lived on the shores of a great lake, but now it is turned to marshfields and bogs."  
"The Gladden Fields?" Isidra asked, "In the first age our people lived there also, and there was a great battle staged there. It was there that the One Ring was lost."  
"Whatever happened there, we must pass through it," Thorin interjected. "Neither side of the river is safe – I will not risk ambush by walking around."  
"Gandalf said the boats should be fine, the water is deep enough," Fili added.  
"So that's our plan, to go through the marshes?" Bilbo asked, feeling strangely uneasy.  
"Unless you have a better plan, Master Baggins, that is our route," Thorin replied, although not as unkindly as he once would have.  
"No, no, although I'm not exactly excited to be back in a boat. When do we leave?"  
"Tomorrow. We are wasting time and supplies if we stay any longer. Beorn has agreed to supply us enough to reach Lorien, where is will be up to Gandalf to secure us safety."  
"Let's load the boats tonight, then," Bilbo offered, "that way we can be off quicker."  
"You seem very eager to leave my company, little bunny," Beorn mocked with a gentle smile.  
"The sooner we leave, the sooner we reach our destination," Bilbo smiled in return.

With that the meeting was ended. Isidra and her guardsman left to ready their own company for departure, Fili happily accepted Beorn's offer to teach him about bee-keeping, and Tauriel and Kili headed for the gardens side by side. Bilbo and Thorin returned to the main house, where they began packing various articles and weapons.

"Did you hear anything about…the dwarves?" Bilbo finally asked.  
"Yes," Thorin replied after a moment. "One of Beorn's people gave the full account of the raid. It was orcs, and we thought, although their actions were unusual. It was my people they were after, not Beorn's Men, and once they had killed them they set the home aflame."  
"That sounds horrible, but not like orc activity," Bilbo replied, "at least not like any orcs we've come across."  
"The worst was that one of the Men claimed he saw the orcs…collecting the dwarves heads before they left. Like some kind of sickening prize."  
"That is…" Bilbo trailed off, feeling the weight of the grotesque act settle across his shoulders.

There was no word he could find to convey sympathy, so instead he put down his pack and put a hand on Thorin's shoulder. The dwarf looked surprised at the quiet action, but nodded his thanks and returned the action. Bilbo saw a thought flicker behind his eyes as Thorin looked him up and down, as if searching for something in his outward appearance.

"All this time and I still haven't asked how you are holding up," he finally said, dropping his arms and getting back to work. "They said your rib would take several weeks to heal – how are you feeling?"  
"Not bad, all things considered," Bilbo replied as he returned to his pack. "Hobbits are sturdy creatures, or so says Gandalf. And considering I could have been _stabbed_ were it not for your mythril, I think I am lucky to have survived."  
"It is _your_ mythril, not mine," Thorin corrected.  
"Fine, _my_ mythril was a big help."  
"Could your ring have anything to do with it?"  
"My ring?" Bilbo froze, suddenly feeling very exposed. "What makes you think so?"  
"Gandalf seemed very concerned about it, and about the fact that you hid it so long. He thought it might be doing more than making you disappear, but is still uncertain."  
"Is that why he rushed off earlier? He never likes to have a half-formed argument."  
"Aye, I think that is part of it. He is worried, I think, as we all are."  
"Well, there's no need for that," was Bilbo's clipped reply.

A thread of anger found it's was into his voice, although Bilbo was unsure where exactly it had come from. He wasn't in need of special worry – hadn't he proved he was a capable time and time again? He knew he should feel flattered that his friends were worried for him, but all he could focus on was the fact that he was the weakest link in the chain, and it seemed his friends knew it. That thought alone was enough to feed his stubborn side, and for the rest of the day he spoke very little as he lugged supplies back to the boats.


	28. The Riverbank Lament

A/N: Happy Monda - Bank Holiday for those of us in the UK! As always, I love to hear your feedback! Cheers!

* * *

As the sky cleared and brightened, so too did the minds of all of Beorn's guests. Gandalf dutifully kept the children busy, sending leaves dancing across the fields or changing handfuls of pebbles into vibrant colors. Their parents worked diligently and efficiently, and the skeleton of the new shelter was erected by mid-afternoon. Bilbo trotted around to and fro, collecting supplies and packed rucksacks to load into the boats – occasionally he could hear the workers singing, low and wild, a blend of deep voices completely different than the delicate tongues of elves and the rich tones of the dwarves.

While Thorin and Fili packed supplies for Bilbo to consolidate, Tauriel and Kili were busy with the boats on the riverbank. The three little crafts had taken quite a beating – they all bore scratches and cracks from the occasional stranding or bump against some hidden boulder. Together they had beached and overturned them, so their damaged hulls sat glistening in the midday sun. Tauriel studied them with a careful eye, and Kili did his best to imitate her scrutinizing gaze as her hands skimmed over the various blunders.

"I really shouldn't be surprised," Tauriel mused, putting her hands on her hips. "We've been on the water a long time, and these boats had seen better days even before we purchased them."  
"I've got the kit from Beorn, will it be enough?"  
"I believe so. Sandpaper?"  
"Loads," Kili replied, rummaging around in the satchel at his hip.  
"Excellent, we'll need to sand around the cracks first."  
"As you command, o Lady Shipwright!" Kili stated with a salute, drawing a smile out of Tauriel.  
"I hope some of my father's skill is hereditary so I might deserve such a grand title!"

With that the pair got to work. Unbeknownst to Tauriel, Kili was the most productive in her presence – if Fili had been the one repairing the boats, they likely would not have been started, let alone completed. Under her gaze he was the most diligent of workers, happily scrubbing away with his leaf of sandpaper. They hardly spoke as the work progressed, content to simply grin at each other whenever their eyes met (this was naturally very often).

Tauriel's thoughts flickered around memories of her father as she worked, half-remembering words and advice he had murmured to her as she fell asleep as a child. He had barely begun to teach her woodworking before he had fallen ill, but she still felt her fingers tracing the same shapes his had as he guided her little hands. She remembered the freckles sprinkled across the backs of his hands, and how one day she had fallen asleep counting them. As she worked away the chipped wood she absently began humming the last song he had sung to her, unaware of her actions as tears welled in her eyes. Kili immediately picked up on this change, peering over one of the keels in concern.

"Tauriel? Is anything wrong?"  
"What?" Tauriel started, wiping at her damp cheeks in surprise. "Oh, no, I hadn't even realized…"  
"Time for a break, I think," Kili said kindly, striding over and taking her hands in his own. Tauriel gave his hands a squeeze in reply as her eyes dried. "Is something troubling you?"  
"I was remembering my father," she murmured, glancing skyward to clear her eyes. "Our parting was…not happy, as you might imagine. It has been many years since I had more than a passing thought of him. You might have liked him," she added with bittersweet smile. "This work just brings back more memories than I thought I had."  
"You are lucky to have memories of him."  
"Mmm. I suppose you are right, although not all of them are good. When he left, he knew he was talking my stubborn ill will with him. I blamed him for his departure, and my mother for going with him. I am beginning to understand why she left this world for him."

Kili didn't even bother hiding the happy flush across his cheeks as Tauriel smiled gently down at him. She wondered if he had picked up the true meaning of her words – her mother had left for love, and now she was learning why it was the right decision to leave Middle Earth for the man she loved. Kili, ever the sharp-minded hunter, felt this realization wrap around him like gossamer – invisible, but almost tangible. Beaming broadly, he peered for a moment longer into her face, and only let her hands go after he was sure she was relaxed once more. They quietly got back to work with their sandpaper, although now their thoughts were on each other and they were too embarrassed to attempt eye contact.

"You were humming something…?" Kili suddenly asked.  
"When elves go West, the custom is to sing a lament to Elbereth, the Star-kindler. It began with the Noldor, those who were exiled, but has become a tradition for all Eldar that wish to go beyond the Sea."  
"Would you…mind singing it?" Kili asked quietly, looking over at her. Her face was unreadable for a moment, then she nodded with a light smile.  
"It starts with a hailing of Varda; _A Elbereth Githoniel, silivren penna __míriel_…"

And so they passed the rest of the afternoon; Tauriel singing soft and low as she and Kili worked the boats back into usage. The lilting song seemed to hover in the air around them, clinging to their skin and soaking into the pebbled banks beneath their feet. Although Kili knew nothing of the elvish tongues, the meaning of the words seemed to transcend the language and form inside his head. He eventually worked up the courage to hum a countermelody once the tune was in his ear, blending easily with Tauriel's languid lamentation; this simple act drew her heart nearer to his more easily that she like to admit, even to herself.

* * *

The boats were finished just as the sun began setting. They had been sanded, glued, and waxed to Tauriel's liking, and were nearly ready for travel once more. While Kili packed the repair supplies back into the borrowed satchel, Tauriel made sure to check over each patch they had completed. Dusk drew nearer, and hidden blackbirds crooned in the reeds on the riverbank. The pair were content to pass the time in quiet, each with their own thoughts (which often drifted to the other). The calm was interrupted when the bird suddenly leapt to the sky, condensing into a whirling cloud above their heads. Tauriel was instantly alert, gazing north as the birds fluttered south.

"Do you see something?" Kili asked, slinging the satchel over his shoulder.  
"Not yet, though there is something foul in the air…" Tauriel replied warily, scanning the horizon as far as her eyes could see. Suddenly she caught a point of light, an orange star against the purple haze of dusk. Her stomach dropped as more lights winked into life and her ears picked up a dull roar – the unmistakable signs of a raiding party.

"Orcs!" she cried, "Less than a league away; run!"

* * *

A/N: The song Tauriel sings is 'A Elbereth Githoniel' which is sung by 'wood elves' in a deleted scene. It was recorded under the title "The Passing of the Elves" if you'd like to listen :)

A/N: No chapter until next Monday, I'm afraid! I'll be travelling home and won't have internet for a while. Hope you enjoy this week-log cliffhanger!


	29. Whistles in the Dark

A/N: Finally! I apologize for the wait - moving home was more hectic than I realized! The posting schedule will now be back on track - thank you all for being patient with me :) as always, if you've got any feedback, don't hesitate to let me know! Cheers!

* * *

Kili was the first to skid through Beorn's gate, nearly tripping over a flagstone as he dashed towards the house. Tauriel sprinted in behind him, caught between marveling at the dwarf's speed and fear of the orc raiders she knew would be upon them soon. They found Beorn, Gandalf, and Fili in the house, dissecting honeycombs on the large table, but all signs of curious delight vanished as Kili and Tauriel burst in.

"Orcs!" Kili gasped, steadying himself on a pillar. "Less than a league north!"  
"They must be the same party that attacked your people," Tauriel added. "Night will be upon us soon, and they will be at your gate even sooner."

Beorn listened intently as the pair quickly replayed what they saw. Fili paled beside him, and Gandalf scowled deeply. A moment of silence passed.

"You must leave," Beorn said. "My people will relish the change to revenge themselves."  
"Isidra will be able to help as well," Tauriel offered.  
"We must make for the boats," stated Gandalf, "I hope they are ready?"  
"They will have to be. We cannot delay to wait for sure."  
"Alert your people, both of you, then find our hobbit and Thorin. With any luck we will be away before sundown."

The refuge was soon a flurry of activity – the Beornings were eager as promised, and the Mirkwood company helped to bolster confidence. As evening fell the orcs' torches marched into view – nearly a dozen points of orange light flickered in the twilight, indicating no more than 30 orcs would be upon them. Bilbo was found dozing in one of the barns and quickly roused, and Thorin was found checking over the prepared packs. Tauriel found Isidra keeping lookout from one of the trees – occasionally shouting out movements or orders – and quickly joined her on the thick pine branch.

"You must take word of this to the King," Tauriel spoke quietly. "This will not be the only orc pack wandering the Wilderland – even if he will do nothing, he and our people should know."  
"He will," Isidra assured her. "Once these foul creatures are slain and burned I will deliver the message myself. And if he asks about you?"  
"Tell him the truth, that I am travelling with Gandalf and Bilbo to Lorien. I doubt he will believe me, but the truth is all I can offer him right now."  
"You will not come back with us…?" Isidra asked quietly. Tauriel peered at her in the gathering gloom with a smile.  
"Not just yet, my friend. To return with you would be to admit personal defeat, although I am beginning to miss having leaves above my head and roots beneath my feet."  
"The Greenwood will always be ready to welcome you home, no matter how many years pass."

Tauriel nodded her thanks and quietly slipped back to the ground, leaving Isidra in her pertch to keep a keen eye on the approaching threat. She made straight for the prepared packs, easily maneuvering through the buzzing crowd. The rest of the company was there, helping each other into their full packs. Even the sleepy, injured Bilbo carried his fair share, much to Gandalf's quiet worry. Tauriel was the last to slip her supplies over her shoulders as Beorn came to meet them. He quietly handed Tauriel the boat repair kit, which she accepted with a quiet thanks.

"And now you must go," Beorn rumbled. "You have done well thus far, and your company will be missed."  
"We are in your debt, my friend. May your losses be few!"  
"And may the river be swift."  
"I will see that you are compensated for your troubles," Thorin offered. "I hope you will accept – it would please me to aid a friend and ally once this is all over."  
"You surprise me, Thorin Oakenshield, but I will still accept. You have my word no orc will follow you from this place."  
"Would they even be able to follow us through Gladden?" Tauriel asked.  
"The Gladden Field is a strange place – half water, half land. There may be ways to travel the marshes on foot; be wary as you cross. You will not be safe until you reach the Golden Wood."  
A sheer whistle pierced the deepening dusk, startling the small company. Tauriel appeared the most agitated, absently grabbing Kili's arm. Several piping whistles answered, followed by elvish commands.  
"They are near," Tauriel murmured tensely. "We should be gone!"  
"Then go we shall," Gandalf replied. "Let us fly!"

The little company was quickly on the move, slipping out of the gate under the cover of the deep winter shadows. Gandalf led the way along the wooden walls, followed by the rest of the company in single file. The torches in the distance now hovered over a dark, moving mass, and were too close for anyone's liking. Occasionally a few rough words could be heard – snatches of a vile orc marching song.

More whistles burst from Beorn's lodging, and a single roar echoed into the falling night. The orcs screamed in response, filling the valley with cruel words and the promise of violence. Heavy silence fell as Gandalf lead the creeping company out from the safe shadows and towards the open fields. As soon as the wizard stepped onto the thin, winding footpath he broke into a low run, and wordlessly the rest of the company followed suit. The orcs meanwhile were nearly at the wall – their pounding and shouting spread across the fields and up to the first evening stars. The orcs were completely focused on Beorn's walls, and the increasing growling coming from within, and all seemed well – until Bilbo tripped.

Down the little hobbit fell, his pack thumping and rattling away as he tumbled to the ground. He yelped as he landed on his injured ribs, and the hand he clapped over his mouth was too late. The yell echoed through the empty fields, across the tall brown grasses and over the advancing orcs. Silence fell as Tauriel stooped to help him up, and was broken a moment later when Gandalf cried "Run!"

The company was sprinting towards the river know, and the orcs roared at the new challenge. They had caught on to them, and turned away from Beorn's house to pursue the easier prey. The six fugitives flew across the flat lands, several of them cursing the soft soil and wishing instead for solid rock – much better for running. Whistles once again peppered the night, although now the sources were moving through the darkness, changing their location as the orcs changed their course.

Gandalf and Thorin were the first to reach the boats – they were flipping their craft as Fili and Kili barreled onto the shore, then set about righting their own boat and pushing it towards the water. Tauriel and Bilbo were last – the hobbit was lagging behind, and Tauriel was determined to stay with him even as the orcs gained on them. They could hear the stamping feet and gurgling shrieks getting louder behind them as they finally broke out of the grass and onto the pebbled riverbank.

Gandalf and Thorin were already on the river – Thorin had Kili's bow ready as his nephews pushed their boat from the banks. Tauriel roughly shoved the last boat over, and with Bilbo's help got it into the water. Before Bilbo could mention he was a poor swimmer, Tauriel had picked him up – pack and all – and tossed him into the boat. The first orcs reached the far side of the beach as Tauriel pushed the boat into the current, water swirling about her waist. Thorin fired, downing the first orc, and Tauriel hauled herself into the boat as it finally caught the current. Fili and Kili hurled several fist-sized stones at the oncoming orcs, knocking several down as they drifted away.

The orcs howled in rage as their target floated downstream. Their howl was answered by a chorus of roars – something was coming from Beorn's house. Before the orcs could regroup, half a dozen bears burst out of the grasses and set to work tearing the orcs apart. Arrows peppered the stony beach, and the three boats watched as their assailant was quickly defeated. The skirmish won, the bears retreated back into the grasses – some of them bearing an arm or a head in their proud jaws. Shadowy figures silently collected the arrows as the boats began to round the first bend in the river. A lone, low whistle sounded in the darkness, and Tauriel licked her lips and whistled in reply – a single note, warm and true, that faded into the starlight as the shaken company floated out of sight.


	30. Apologies and Updates!

Hello readers,  
First off, I'd like to apologize.  
I know I promised regular updates, but the combination of moving back home, starting work, and getting food poisoning has really exauhsted me.  
The next chapter will be up on this coming Monday, and from this point on I can only post once a week (every Monday).  
The chapters will of course be longer, not to worry!  
I'm really sorry if I've annoyed anyone - believe me, I wish I was better I time management too!  
Thanks for your patience,  
Amadeli


	31. Reeds and Rushes

A/N: At last - better late than never! Thanks to all you guys being patient out there, I eagerly await any feedback you have. Cheers!

* * *

The night passed slowly as the river bore the three boats south. The stars flickered dimly overhead as oars quietly dipped into the water, taking the six companions further away from what could have been a very nasty encounter. The sickle moon lent little light to the slow-churning river, and upon its decent Gandalf finally deemed the area safe enough to beach the boats and rest awhile on the eastern riverbank. Sheltered by the reeds and grasses the exhausted company quickly fell asleep, lulled into slumber by the sound of the Anduin.

Bilbo was the last to wake, bleary-eyed and sore in the pale dawn. It seemed every part of him protested movement, but he feared Gandalf's reproof more than any ache he could experience. No one spoke as they boats were once more launched – each feared that orcs might descend if the silence was broken. With Gandalf once again leading the way they spent the whole day on the river, and did not stop until the sun had set. Despite the gradually warming air and lessening degree of danger, Bilbo felt an odd sense of unease creep slowly into the pit of his stomach. His companions all noticed, but assumed it was merely the hobbit's healing injuries that kept him quiet and sullen. Bilbo himself couldn't explain his mood, even if he had been asked. He spent most of the night staring into the fire, rolling his ring slowly between his fingers

They spent the next few days on the river, speeding south as the river straightened and widened. Small hills began rising on either side, low and brown in the grips of winter, rolling back towards the mountains to the west and under Mirkwood to the east. Gradually the travelers began speaking again – at first whispers of warning, then soon discussing travel plans and dinner in the same breath. They had not been followed, so the plan still held – after passing through the Gladden Marshes, they would seek refuge in Lorien and finally reach Mirrormere and the Dimrill Dale. As they camped on a wide isle in the river, the crackling fire soon restored to company to their previous optimism and idle chatter.

"I wonder where Beorn learned to bake?" Kili asked, him mouth full of honeycake.  
"Perhaps his bees taught him," Tauriel offered from across the fire.  
"Or maybe he _invented_ baking," Fili mused gravely. Kili looked shocked at this revelation for a moment, then realized his brother had been teasing him.  
"Oh, alright, very funny."  
"You really don't make it very hard, brother."  
"You know," Gandalf said drowsily, "I'm surprised you still seem to think that he is a man of few skills, especially after he has saved your neck several times now."  
"He knew much about the history of the world – I did not look for a scholar in him," Tauriel murmured.  
"Yes indeed. He has seem many years, and learned much from the earth itself rather than books and maps."  
"What wrong with books and maps?" Bilbo piped up with a frown.  
"Nothing, my dear friend, as you well know," Gandalf soothed, surprised at the hobbit's injured tone. "But you know as well as any the value of learning things firsthand, from rocks and trees and the road under one's feet. You yourself have learned much on your journey, though you may not know it. And you will learn still more, if I have any say in the matter!" he chuckled.  
"All I've learned is that bitter cold makes me drowsy and that boating is not an enjoyable means of transportation."  
"And so my point it made," Gandalf chuckled, then promptly fell asleep. Soon the rest of the company joined him except for Bilbo.

He sat glumly wrapped in his blanket as the fire warmed his toes, but the cheery flames couldn't lift his sulk. Something heavy clung around his shoulders, making him anxious about something he could not name. His only comfort was his ring – it slid easily between his fingers as he admired its shine in the firelight. As he turned it this way and that it suddenly slipped through his hands, dropping into the dying fire. As it touched the flames an imaged flashed in Bilbo's vision – a great eye, never blinking, made only of fire, smoke, and malice. He gasped and jumped in surprise, horrified as the fire licked around his ring. He nearly snatched it out of the fire with his bare hand, but managed to retrieve it safely with a nearby twig.

His heart thudded in his ears as the sudden fear faded. His ring was safe, unmarked by the fire, and before he could stop himself he was picking it up from the sandy ground. He nearly dropped it, expecting it to still be sizzling, but was surprised to find it just as cold as it had been before the fire. As he turned it over and over, blazing red letters began etching themselves along the ring. He could recognize the tiny letters, but the language was foreign and mysterious – something to decipher at another time. One by one the letters and words faded until Bilbo was left holding a plain gold ring once more – he hastily returned it to a pocket, then curled up on the ground for a night of fitful sleep.

* * *

They reached the marshes by mid-morning the next day. As they sped down the wide river the reeds and rushes on the banks grew more numerous, and the river grew shallow and slow. Blackbirds hailed them from hidden perches, occasionally darting out of cover to flutter around Thorin's head before returning to safety. The sun was veiled by layers of thin cloud, casting a pale and sickly light over the land on either side as the banks steadily receded with the march south. Small islands of reeds cropped up with increasing intensity as the three boats sped south, long leaves bowed and drooping into the slow water below.

"And so we have come to Gladden," Gandalf finally declared. "These marshes are not as friendly as those you might be familiar with. Without the sun to guide us south it'll be best to follow me, I think."  
"You know the way?" Tauriel asked, but Gandalf only glanced at her before silently paddling forward.

The marshes seemed to swallow them up, smuggling them between great clusters of tall rushes. The blade-like leaves stretched up nearly three feet out of the water before bending back down again, barely brushing the churned waters at the boats slipped past. Pockets of mist would suddenly crop up, tucked under the rushes and protected from the climbing sun. Bird piped here and there, breaking the stillness – there seemed to be a shortage of air as the wind died down. Only the occasional twisted bog tree broke the endless rushes, reaching with bare, gnarled fingers out over the water.

It was past noon when something unexpected loomed out of the haze before them, immobile and shadowy in the deeps of the mist. Slowly Gandalf led them silently past, revealing the shapes to be remnants of broken walls, constructed of huge rounded stones. They shone pale and translucent in the sickly sunlight, some of them rimmed with strange lily pads or clumps of algae where they emerged out of the water. Structures continued rising out of the marshes – some domed, some shard-like, but all seemed somehow preserved, as if the constant flow of the river had no effect.

"This is an old place," Tauriel finally spoke, making Bilbo jump.  
"Indeed," Gandalf replied, "this was one of the first settlements of the Elder Days. Long ago a lake was here, fed by the Anduin and the River Gladden, and was inhabited by Silvan elves. Your kindred, I believe."  
"I never thought it would be so well preserved," Tauriel answered in awe.  
"This was also where some of the first hobbits lived, well into the second age."  
"I find it hard to believe that hobbits enjoyed living near a lake," Bilbo mused. "What happened to them?"  
"Well, eventually they began crossing the Misty Mountains and heading West, settling in the green country that became known as The Shire."

Gandalf continued rattling off very important facts regarding the inhabitants of the Gladden fields, and all the comings and goings and other great events that occurred in the area. Bilbo tried his best to focus, but Gandalf seemed quite content to recite his knowledge even if only Tauriel and Fili were interested in paying attention. They continued paddling around the dark pools and islets of reeds for the rest of the afternoon, occasionally passing another white ruin looming out of the water. They made camp on the largest isle they could find – it might have once been the crest of a hill, standing nearly ten feet out of the water and crowned with a single round dwelling. There was ample space for all six to spread out, and sleeping on solid ground was a welcome alternative to spending a night in the boats.

* * *

Bilbo woke with a start nearly an hour before dawn. A handful of stars still hung hazily in the purple sky, but their presence did little to calm him – he felt he was being watched. Goosebumps crawled up his arms as he sat up, peering anxiously into the darkness surrounding the camp. All was quiet, except for the snoring of his dwarvish company, but this did little to reassure him. He stood up slowly and quietly, stretching his limbs as he scanned the shadowy rushes around the little island, and froze when he realized he was no longer staring at merely reeds and rushes.

He was staring at two points of soft light, partially hidden in the marsh plants near the shore. Bilbo concluded with a jolt that they were eyes, lamp-like and wide, and they were staring right at him. They blinked slowly at him, and after a moment he returned the gesture, still mid-stretch. A face peered out of the reeds, followed by arms, legs, and an entire little body that looked altogether rather hobbitish. Bilbo was too startled to speak as the creature slowly approached – it seemed as curious about him as he was about it.

She – in the growing light it became clear the creature was female – wore a tunic made of many layers of grey-blue netting, secured at the waist by a broad belt. She had a curly topknot at the highest point of her head, secured by several cleverly placed sticks, and carried a sort of barbed spear and a reed basket at her hip. Hobbit feet carried her silently across the marshy ground as she approached, reaching nearly the same height as Bilbo, looking him over with round brown eyes.

"What are ye?" she suddenly whispered, making Bilbo jump.  
"I'm a hobbit," he whispered back, "not unlike yourself, I think."  
"A hobbit? I'm no such thing!"  
"Well what are you then?"  
"A Stoor, if ye must know, and the chief no less."  
"There are more of you?" Bilbo asked, genuinely interested.  
"There's no one that's the likes of me, and I'll thank ye to remember that!"  
"Of course, I didn't mean to offend-"  
"Then why by Yavanna's left hand are ye and yer's lolling about on one of our islands?"

At that moment Bilbo became aware of several more faces half-hidden around the banks of the island – he stammered out that there was a misunderstanding, and began quickly rousing his friends under the critical eye of the chief. His companions were irritated at the early wake up, but were soon very compliant as the chief made herself known to each and every one of them by staring into their faces for nearly a minute each. She clicked her tongue once and nearly two dozen similar forms crept forward – all wrapped in net tunics and sporting topknots – some old, some young, all brown and freckled and very, _very_ hobbit like. Although some wore rudimentary boots and some males had frizzing beards, their large feet, round features, and short stature linked them undisputable to Bilbo's people to the west.

"Bless me, you're Stoors, are you not?" Gandalf cried gleefully as he leapt to his feet. Several of the strangers yelped or screamed at the wizard's towering height, and he quickly sat back down. "Apologies, my excitement got the better of me. Of course it is a delight to meet you, I must say! May I assume you are the chief, my lady?"  
"Yeh, that'll be me, you great stork. What's your business here?"  
"We are travelling south, to Lothorien, the Golden Wood. Do you know it?"  
"Ah, going to pay a visit to the Lady of Light, are we?" she sneered, and several of her people laughed as well.  
"Yes, although I fail to see the humor of that statement."  
"The Lady Galadriel is a myth," one of the Stoors quipped, "everyone knows those woods were abandoned years ago!" Several laughs and hums of agreement rippled through the small folk.  
"It would seem your travels are in vain," the chief laughed roughly, "but a charming story besides. Your goal?"  
"To reach the Dimrill Dale," Thorin growled, and at once half of the Stoors hissed at the name.  
"We do not care for that place," the chief spat, "and neither should you if you would like the world to stay in one piece! Do you know what evils smolders there?"  
"That is precisely our goal, to cleanse that place of…of its filth, and its evil!" Gandalf supplied. The chief frowned, looking hard into Gandalf's face for a long moment. He kept up his polite smile while she scrutinized him, twiddling his thumbs as his companions and the other Stoors watched. After a moment the chief's face split into a broad grin as she put her hands on her hips.  
"Ye know, I think I believe you! Morla's my name. Up up up, up ye get, we're friends now!"

At that moment the atmosphere of the little island changed – the Stoors relaxed and lowered their spears, and the dwarves cautiously took their hands from various handles. Chief Morla was now a very different person from the wary creature Bilbo had first encountered; she was robust and confident as she questioned Gandalf, and gruff but civil as she met the dwarves. She didn't seem to know what to make of Tauriel, who stood awkwardly beside Bilbo, but after a few words she felt as strangely welcomed as the rest of the party.

Dawn broke shortly after, and Morla all but demanded to host them on another island. The offer was accepted, and soon the Stoors began filing away. Each one clambered into his or her own little boat and quickly paddled off. Made of reed and shaped vaguely like halves of a walnut, the little watercrafts were surprisingly nimble as they shoved off through the reeds, bobbing single file as they paddled east. The six travelers all but jumped into their own boats to follow – outnumbered in strange territory, they could only hope that their host was as benevolent as she seemed.

* * *

A/N: I'd love to hear what you readers thought about this - was it too long? Too short? Was the pacing alright?  
As a reminder, the next chapters will be once per week, but about this long. :)


End file.
